


the way a whetstone hones a blade

by softestpunk



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, I mean that's basically irrelevant neither of them really cares, M/M, May/December Relationship, Nilfgaardian politics, also Nilfgaardians fucking, fucking Nilfgaardians, this is mostly about Morvran being the pretty princess Emhyr so desperately needs, this is so very self-indulgent but I hope someone else will enjoy it anyway
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-06
Updated: 2019-06-28
Packaged: 2020-01-05 16:52:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 21,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18370160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/softestpunk/pseuds/softestpunk
Summary: Morvran Voorhis returns from an extended tour of the Empire and allied states as a young man, and Emhyr finds himself much more pleased with the outcome of sending him away than he expected.(AU which departs from canon early in Emhyr's rule over Nilfgaard, details in the notes)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> In this AU:
> 
> \- Morvran Voorhis was sent away from Nilfgaard at the age of 14 at Emhyr's order, ostensibly to round out his education  
> \- this had the knock-on effect of preventing the Leuvaarden conspiracy from disrupting the second Nilfgaardian war, which meant it swung strongly in favour of Nilfgaard
> 
> This is pretty much in the fic itself but I figured an explanation would help <3

Morvran Voorhis had not seen Nilfgaard proper in seven years, let alone the palace walls, and the way they glowed golden in the afternoon light struck him anew.

Nilfgaard was beautiful. Being away for so long only served to remind him how true that was.

He clutched the tiny gift he’d brought for the emperor so tightly the point dug into his palm, second-guessing himself once again. Was it the right thing to present to him? It had seemed that way, when Morvran had first spotted it in Zerrikania, but now it seemed… both too little, and too much. Worthless, but far too sentimental a gift.

And yet it was all he had, and he could not present nothing. Not after Emhyr had been so kind to him.

By the time he was standing in Emhyr’s office, it was far too late to change his mind.

“Morvran Voorhis,” Emhyr said, slouching to one side in his chair and looking him up and down.

He had been a boy of fourteen when the emperor had last seen him.

“I sent away a boy and you have brought me back a man,” he continued as Morvran rose from a deep bow, and though his voice was even, Morvran could hear the approval in it.

Warmth bloomed in the pit of his stomach. He’d been so afraid he’d be a disappointment. Too thin, perhaps, not broad enough across the chest.

But Emhyr’s warm eyes glittered as he looked.

Morvran had long wanted Emhyr to look at him just like this.

They had corresponded while Morvran had been touring the empire and allied states, Morvran sending weekly reports of all the things he’d seen and getting approximately monthly responses and updates on the goings-on of Nilfgaard, and the war in the North. He had been endlessly pleased to have so much of the emperor’s time to himself, especially when his attention had been occupied elsewhere.

“I must congratulate you in person on your victory in the North.”

Everything south of the Pontar was now, one way or another, Nilfgaardian. Either by treaty or occupation, Emhyr had swept the board.

The emperor inclined his head very slightly, acknowledging Morvran’s congratulations but clearly not about to dwell on talk of conquest.

“You must be exhausted,” Emhyr said. “So I will keep you no longer than necessary. I would like to request your presence at dinner, if you’re in the mood to indulge me, but I will not insist.”

Morvran blinked. The thought that he might refuse such an opportunity would never have occurred to him. Dining with the emperor on an ordinary day was an honour reserved for very few.

“I would… be delighted,” Morvran said, still stunned by the offer. “Of course. I will need to bathe first, but…”

“Rooms have already been prepared for you, and I believe a bath is being drawn as we speak,” Emhyr said.

He had clearly not expected Morvran to refuse.

“Yes, Your Majesty,” Morvran bowed his head graciously. “I… before I go, I… would like to offer you a gift.”

Something in Morvran’s chest fluttered at the way Emhyr’s eyebrow arched in response. Few people, he imagined, managed to elicit genuine curiosity in Emhyr var Emreis. He was always two steps ahead of them.

Morvran admired that ability, and had made every attempt to develop it himself. Now that he was back in Nilfgaard, he would have the opportunity to discover how well he’d managed the feat.

Stomach swooping, he closed the distance between himself and Emhyr’s desk, finally revealing the object he’d been gripping unnecessarily tightly the whole way from the palace gates.

A wave of nausea washed over him as he worried that it was the wrong thing for one reason or another, and he would have liked to screw his eyes shut as Emhyr picked it off the leather pad in the centre of his desk and examined it in the light of the window behind him.

“I apologise for not having it set,” Morvran said. “I wasn’t sure what to do with it. I just thought… it put me in mind of you.”

“I have never seen anything like this,” Emhyr responded, still turning the little teardrop-shaped stone this way and that in the light, so that it glittered just the way Morvran had seen it do in the Zerrikanian sun.

It was a white stone that appeared to flicker with internal flames, and he had immediately thought of his emperor on seeing it. He’d thought to send it with a letter half a dozen times—he’d sent other things, curiosities he’d come across to his family and to Emhyr, but they had been illustrative.

This was sentimental.

Morvran desperately wanted to intend it as a thank-you to Emhyr for sending him in the first place, but he knew in his heart that he had wanted to give it to Emhyr for entirely different reasons than simple gratitude.

If he had idolised Emhyr as a boy, then that feeling had been given the time, space, and attention it needed to blossom into a different feeling altogether.

“It’s an opal,” Morvran explained. “Just like the blue and black ones we get here, but in white.”

“It must be incredibly rare.”

Morvran shook his head. “No, it’s everywhere there. I did ask about it. The locals believed it was simply too common to have export value, and so they keep it. It was worth less than pot of ink.”

He shouldn’t have said that. He should not have revealed that this object had no value other than the fact that he had seen it, thought of a man who was described as the white flame, and imagined Emhyr holding it in his hand, just like this, as mesmerised by it as Morvran himself had been. An experience they could share even across time and distance.

“Then you have given me two gifts,” Emhyr murmured, closing his fingers around the opal. “Firstly, the very thoughtful one of bringing me something from your travels that I will enjoy so much,” he said. “And secondly, the opportunity to transform what the Zerrikanians think of as worthless into something incredibly valuable. From the moment I am seen wearing this, the knowledge of where it came from will be priceless.”

Morvran nodded, understanding what he was being told. “Then I shall keep the secret,” he said.

Emhyr didn’t quite smile at him, but the way his gaze settled on Morvran’s face had the effect of a broad grin in the way it made his heart soar. “You have learned much, I see. I look forward to hearing all your stories.”

Just barely stopping himself from squeaking with delight at the thought that Emhyr wanted to hear him tell tales of his adventures, Morvran nodded. “Of course, Your Majesty.”

“Emhyr,” the emperor corrected. “I believe our relationship is more than intimate enough to allow you that. I had wanted to say so in a letter, but I feared revealing that you were close to me when you were so far from home. I could not have lived with your being kidnapped for ransom on my conscience. And your father would have been very unhappy with me.”

Morvran did not snort, but only through sheer force of will. His father would have regretted the loss of an heir, but not, Morvran suspected, mourned the loss of his son.

“But you really must bathe,” Emhyr said, not unkindly, but with a gently teasing note in his voice. “And shave, and have someone see to the ends of your hair. I cannot send you back to your parents looking untidy.”

That, Morvran did not disagree with, and the chance to neaten up appealed to him. He’d tried his best, but there was no substitute for a professional hand.

He bowed again before he left, the word intimate bouncing around in his head.

***

Emhyr had sent a boy brimming with potential previously unheard of in his family line away to round out his education and keep him from any undue paternal influence, and the universe had brought him back a young man who was, in a word, stunning.

He had grown into the gangly frame Emhyr remembered, and he would fill out in the next few years, and while that was aesthetically pleasing, it was not the extent of Morvran’s transformation.

The once-shy boy now held himself with confidence, and though he had stuttered once or twice with embarrassment over giving Emhyr such a sentimental gift, his description of it and his understanding, once prodded, of what it could mean spoke well of how much he’d learned in his absence.

He had been sent away with trusted tutors and a personal guard, and clearly learned a thing or two from both.

He’d also, evidently, picked up the Ofieri habit of lining his eyes, and the effect was… certainly favourable on his young face.

His father would be livid, and the thought of that was enough to make Emhyr allow himself a small, private smile.

Prince Voorhis had been spared punishment for the conspiracy he had—apparently unwittingly—been in the centre of solely for Morvran’s sake.

Now, Emhyr knew exactly what his eventual punishment would be. Morvran had grown, as he hoped, into a young man who could be shaped and moulded, turned into something beautiful and sharp and deadly. And Emhyr was the man to do it, the way a whetstone hones a blade.

Yes. Morvran would make a perfectly suitable friend and confidante.

One day, if he was treated correctly, he would make for a much more valuable thing.

A loyal heir with the capacity to usher in a new era for Nilfgaard.

Emhyr rose from his desk, readying to wash and dress before dinner. Now was the perfect time to get a head start on such a plan, and he was glad that he had already had the presence of mind to insist Morvran use his first name.

The offer had slipped out unintentionally at first, genuine affection for the young man in front of him momentarily overriding the less sentimental parts of his mind, but it would serve as a very good starting point.

Morvran was waiting for him by the time Emhyr had finished his own evening routine, refreshed by having washed and dressed in something less formal for the evening, a light robe that sat less heavily on his shoulders. Morvran was dressed similarly, as expected, and already sitting with his legs crossed and back perfectly straight as he poured fragrant herbal tea into two cups.

Emhyr wondered if he was surprised to learn that the emperor himself ate so informally, or whether the lack of other place settings had given him pause.

He hesitated, as if to rise, but Emhyr gestured for him to stay where he was.

“You are here as a friend,” Emhyr said. “Not a subject.”

A pretty pink flush spread over Morvran’s cheeks, highlighting his youth again. One day he would not be so easily impressed, but for now, Emhyr saw no harm in enjoying Morvran exactly the way he was, the bud of a rose just on the cusp of bursting into full bloom.

Emhyr sat opposite him, accepting the cup he was offered and holding it between his palms, absorbing the warmth into fingers stiff from gripping a pen for so many hours today.

“I suppose you will be grateful to eat something familiar,” he said, gesturing in the vague direction of an attendant to signal that they were ready to begin.

“I will,” Morvran said. “But I expect the pleasure of your company to far outstrip the comfort of being entirely sure what I’m eating.”

Emhyr raised an eyebrow. “As a friend, Morvran,” Emhyr said. “You need not flatter me.”

Morvran shook his head. “I enjoy your company,” he murmured, staring down into his tea. “I am flattered that you would choose to keep mine.”

“Please be assured that I do not flatter you when I say I expect that your company will be highly desirable to all of Nilfgaard, and I am merely taking advantage of few people realising you’ve returned to have you all to myself. Emperor’s privilege.”

Morvran took a breath to say something, but then apparently thought better of it.

Instead, he set down his tea and reached for the platter that had been set down in front of them, selecting, unsurprisingly, a thick slice of bread. Emhyr watched as he dipped it in salt and oil and then brought it to his mouth, pink tongue darting out to taste it before his lips parted to bite a piece off.

He realised, belatedly, that he should perhaps not have been watching so closely.

If Morvran had noticed, however, he had not made any indication that he minded. Not that Emhyr expected him to.

Eventually, Morvran would become used to his company and Emhyr, in turn, would be more mindful of his own behavior. Besides, he was only reacting to the surprise of seeing Morvran as a grown man, quite unlike the shy boy Emhyr had barely known but felt was worth educating properly all the same. The novelty would wear off.

Morvran would, with time, become any one of dozens of young Nilfgaardian men vying for his attention.

Except, of course, that he would not.

But he did not yet need to know that.

“You mentioned the fabled striped horses found in Zerrikania,” Emhyr began. “I got the impression from your letter that you were barely holding back from writing a treatise on them.”

Morvran glanced up, chewing and swallowing the olive he’d just put in his mouth and then licking his lips, which only served to spread the oil they were covered in and make them seem as though they’d been painted.

“I was wary of straining your patience,” he said. “I don’t expect you to share my interest in the particulars of horses. Though they were not exactly that, I think. They can be ridden and trained to pull carts, though they are unsuited to the task. The locals call them zebras.”

“Unsuited, you say?” Emhyr asked, taking a dried fig from the spread in front of them.

The Voorhis family were, primarily, horse traders. They’d diversified over the last century or so, but horses formed the backbone of their enterprise, and were the foundation on which their not inconsiderable fortune was built. Emhyr trusted Morvran to know what he was talking about when it came to horses and horse-like creatures.

“Yes. They’re built not unlike asses, but they are sensitive creatures. Prone to panic. I don’t… I didn’t wish to say anything that might be… undiplomatic in front of our allies, but I think it is cruel to use them such. If they must be kept in captivity, they would be better suited to decoration than work.”

Emhyr sipped his tea while he considered what Morvran was saying. This was a good chance to see how much he’d learned, how capable of strategic thinking he was.

“Let us assume that this is a problem of interest to Nilfgaard in general. That we would prefer not to stand by when it comes to the mistreatment of domesticated animals,” he said, which was, in general, true. Domestic animals like cats, dogs, cattle, and horses enjoyed some protection under the law, and this, Emhyr felt, was a mark of true civilisation.

Morvran looked up at him, clever eyes already sharp and focused.

“How would you go about solving it diplomatically? Without the ability to impose Nilfgaardian sensibilities on a foreign nation?”

“Encourage them to use horses,” Morvran said. “Offer reduced export taxes to traders who would supply Zerrikanians with their stock, and have good horses put in the hands of influential people so they become more fashionable to use. When offered a more suitable alternative at a comparable price, most people would make the change.”

“And this would benefit your family greatly, of course,” Emhyr said wryly, sipping his tea.

Morvran, to his surprise, shook his head. “We do not breed the kind of workhorse that the Zerrikanians would have use for. At most, we could supply a few beautiful specimens to offer as gifts for the second part of the solution. And should such a plan be considered, we would naturally offer them as gifts. I would see to it personally.”

“Such a plan is being very seriously considered,” Emhyr said, struck by just how well Morvran had considered the problem, and how thoroughly he had disregarded his own family’s interests in formulating it.

He was consumed with the solution. The solution for the greater good.

Which made him exactly the man Emhyr wanted to see on the throne one day.

“Draft a proposal,” Emhyr said decisively. “And then bring it to me, and we will craft it into something I can act on.”

Morvran stared openly at him, forgetting himself for long moments.

“Your Majesty, I-”

“Emhyr.” He paused to sip his tea while Morvran opened and closed his mouth. “You should not be so surprised,” he continued. “I have not gone to all the trouble of ensuring you enjoyed such a well-rounded education to then pretend you aren’t one of the best and brightest in Nilfgaard. I value your opinion, your input, and the use of your mind to benefit the empire. Consider this a demonstration of that value.”

“I don’t know what to say,” Morvran told his tea cup.

“Draft the proposal,” Emhyr said simply. “You need not say anything. This is not a favour, it is a request for counsel from someone uniquely qualified to offer it.”

Emhyr watched Morvran’s lips silently form the words uniquely qualified.

It did not come as a surprise that this was the way to win him over. Valuing him, unlike his father, who saw him as useless to his goals. Morvran was not the pretty daughter Alwyn Voorhis had been hoping for, not the empress-in-waiting he had wanted in a child.

To call him stupid and short-sighted was an insult to both idiots and the blind, as far as Emhyr was concerned.

If his father would not make use of his full potential, then Emhyr would instead.


	2. Chapter 2

The palace ballroom felt as though it was currently housing half of Nilfgaard, the throng of bodies and the noise of the place beginning to play on Morvran’s nerves. He had become accustomed to his own company, received at every stop by families of similar rank to his own and largely treated as one of them. He had not been among this many people at once since he was a boy.

Certainly not people who were here, ostensibly, to see him.

Of course, that wasn’t really how palace balls worked—most people were here to make connections, though plenty had sought him out and asked him with interest varying from enthusiastic to feigned about his travels.

Emhyr had been right. He was suddenly very desirable company, and surrounded by people around his age, all of them vying for his attention, and some of them even drawing it.

And yet, when he felt Emhyr’s now-familiar presence at his side, he was relieved.

Morvran had not returned home after spending his first night back at the palace, instead staying to draft the proposal Emhyr had asked for and to prepare for this event—his reintroduction into Nilfgaardian society.

Silence fell among the little group, none of them sure, apparently, how to react to Emhyr’s sudden appearance.

“Forgive me,” Emhyr said. “As much as I’m sure you’re all enjoying Morvran’s company, I’m afraid tradition must be satisfied.”

Morvran scanned the small crowd, a knot twisting his stomach. He would have to choose a partner, and though it was merely tradition—it would mean nothing, and certainly not that he was accepting them as a suitor, as it might once have—it still made him uncomfortable to so publicly pick a favourite.

It was impossible not to think of the ripples it would cause.

Perhaps the Ofieri princess, who would not accept him as a marriage candidate under any circumstances. That was a safe choice, and one that might strengthen ties with their people, and she was very pretty.

Or someone closer to home, someone he’d known as a boy, an understandable, familiar choice.

“Come,” Emhyr said, holding out his hand.

Holding out his hand to Morvran.

An offer. A rescue, even. Morvran would not have to choose. Emhyr had chosen for him.

Introduced by the emperor himself.

The thought was almost more alarming than having to choose one of his current cohort, but also vastly more appealing.

Though it had only been a handful of days, Morvran was becoming comfortable with Emhyr’s presence. They had eaten together often, and Emhyr had listened patiently to all of Morvran’s stories—not just patiently, but with genuine interest, and intelligent questions, and insights that made him look at incidents in new lights he had not previously considered.

Emhyr wore the opal Morvran had brought him on a long silver chain, a simple claw setting gripping the point.

And though Morvran knew it was to catch people’s interest, to turn the knowledge of their source into the valuable information Emhyr was so sure it was, he couldn’t help a swell of pride over having given it to him.

Morvran took Emhyr’s offered hand, heart fluttering in his chest, and followed him through the crowd.

Emhyr paused at the edge of the ballroom floor, standing just over the border of the newest tiles, and gave him a meaningful look.

Morvran had never stood on this floor before, though he—and the rest of Nilfgaard—knew what lay beneath it. He supposed Emhyr used it as a test of sorts, and watched those who refused to dance on it closely.

This, then, was an important moment. A silent swearing of fealty, a public gesture that Morvran was on Emhyr’s side. He was not so naive that he didn’t realise Emhyr had enemies.

He wasn’t so naive that he didn’t suspect his own father was among them, or would have been, given half a chance.

And yet Emhyr was everything an emperor should have been. Clever, and strong, courageous, ambitious, and most of all, a man who put the good of his people above all else.

There was no need to choose a side, as far as Morvran was concerned. Only one side had any merit.

He stepped onto the new tiles, holding his breath and meeting Emhyr’s warm amber eyes. They crinkled at the corners, a rare smile softening his otherwise severe features, and Morvran knew down to the marrow of his bones that he had made the right decision.

“Do you mind if I lead?” Emhyr asked softly, drawing him out into the centre of the floor as everyone else looked on. “I have never followed.”

“I think anything else might seem indecent,” Morvran replied.

One corner of Emhyr’s mouth quirked up into a wry smile, his eyes softening again. Morvran wasn’t sure whether he’d been in a good mood all night, or if perhaps he was responsible.

He wanted to be responsible.

“I am not opposed to a little indecency,” Emhyr murmured. “Only to standing on your toes.”

A warm flush heated Morvran’s belly at Emhyr’s tone, the emperor’s deep voice lowered to such an intimate whisper and curling around the syllables of _indecency_ swirling around his gut.

The music swelled anew, and Emhyr drew him into familiar steps, light on his feet and elegant as ever. The perfect image of Nilfgaardian nobility.

Morvran wanted to be him.

And he also, in the very depths of his heart, where he kept all his most precious secrets hidden, he wanted to be with him. Even knowing this would never occur.

A man who had all of an empire to choose from seemed unlikely to pick Morvran Voorhis, of all people. Anyone would have jumped at the chance.

“Thank you for the rescue,” Morvran said as others began to join them. “For not putting me in a position to embarrass myself.”

“You would not have embarrassed yourself. You were surrounded with perfectly suitable partners.”

“Interested primarily in my name or my fortune,” Morvran said wryly. He was under no illusions about why he was so popular.

“Most of them,” Emhyr agreed. “Though you are not the only one they could gain from, and yet you drew easily the largest and most interested crowd. And at least two had nothing to gain from you at all except your company.”

Morvran raised an eyebrow.

“Firstly, the princess you were considering. You would be quite a step down for her, and yet she would be very happy to be invited back to your rooms this evening.”

The tips of Morvran’s ears heated. He couldn’t be sure that was true, but why should Emhyr lie to him about it?

“And the other?” he asked.

“Vivien Adamarta, whose mother might actually kill him if she caught him with a Voorhis,” Emhyr said. “And yet he would have risked it.”

“Why?” Morvran asked, surprised to learn both of these things. The princess, he could put down to curiosity about foreigners.

Vivien lived in Nilfgaard, though his family was Toussaintois. He could have his pick of Nilfgaardians anytime he liked.

“Because you have grown up into a beautiful young man, and make for quite a charming conversation partner,” Emhyr said. “At least, I imagine these to be their reasons. They are the most obvious ones.”

The word _beautiful_ echoed in Morvran’s mind.

It sounded like a simple observation, but he was not sure it constituted an objective truth. And yet it was not the sort of compliment he expected Emhyr to pay him, and the emperor had no reason at all to flatter him in any case.

Certainly not now, not when he’d just made such a public display of having sided with him. Not when Emhyr had honoured him so by introducing him.

An observation, then. Perhaps the repetition of a comment someone else had made.

“Have I mentioned that the kohl suits you?” Emhyr asked after another moment.

Morvran shook his head, surprised. He had been expecting someone to object, but he liked the way it made his eyes look, and he had not wanted to part with the effect if no one actually said anything.

He had few enough good features that making the best of the ones he did have seemed like a reasonable strategy.

“Well, it does, and I am not alone in thinking so. I have heard trade negotiations for much greater import quantities already beginning to take place. Every fashionable person in Nilfgaard will be wearing it within the space of a month.”

“Really?” Morvran asked, genuinely surprised. He could hardly imagine people wanting to copy him.

“Really,” Emhyr confirmed. “You may one day have to teach me.”

“I’d be happy to,” Morvran promised, imagining the emperor’s eyes ringed with a thick black line, deep and intense and looking into his own.

He would have been very, _very_ happy to.

***

The look Alwyn Voorhis gave him as he finally left Morvran to dance with other partners would have been enough to keep Emhyr warm through the rest of the winters of his life.

Emhyr smiled to himself and settled down to watch Morvran, grinning and laughing and enjoying himself as a young man should. Opportunities Emhyr himself had not had.

It was not difficult to admit to himself that some part of him was living through Morvran, that seeing him happy and enjoying his youth was healing the parts of Emhyr that had not had the chance to do the same.

His attention was drawn into another conversation in short order, though it wandered back to Morvran every now and again, following his movements through the crowd, cataloguing dance partners. Thankfully, he was not the only one whose attention wandered. Emhyr had ensured the guest list was full of the young and beautiful, as well as those older people who could be useful to Morvran.

The more opportunities he had, the less likely he would be to squander them like the rest of his family line had been bull-headedly determined to.

When Morvran returned to his side, flushed and glowing, Emhyr felt warmth bloom in his chest. Despite not having been directly involved in any but the most distant way, he was proud of the young man Morvran had grown into.

“I promised you’d be popular,” Emhyr said, watching as Morvran made every attempt to sip from a glass of wine slowly, instead of swallowing the whole thing down in one go. “And I can see you have been.”

The tips of Morvran’s ears burned red.

“I believe you helped,” Morvran responded, licking wine away from his lips and staining them red in the process.

“Perhaps,” Emhyr allowed. “Have you decided who you might drag back to your rooms?”

Morvran glanced at the crowd, but shook his head at the same time. “I do not have a firm enough grasp of the social situation at home to risk it,” he said.

Which was an odd excuse, Emhyr thought.

“Unless there’s someone… specific?” he asked, peering closely at Emhyr’s face.

Emhyr’s stomach sank. “I would never use you like that,” he said, though he could see why Morvran thought he might.

The poor boy was already waiting for instructions from his father on whom he should bed, and when, and what promises he should make or break.

This would not come to pass, if Emhyr could help it. Morvran would choose his own lovers, as many or as few as he pleased.

Alwyn Voorhis would not have the chance to ruin this young man. Not through malice or incompetence.

That had been the whole point of sending him away in the first place.

“Oh.” Morvran blushed, not meeting Emhyr’s eyes. “I apologise.”

“No need,” Emhyr murmured. “No need at all.”

“What about you?” Morvran asked, the faintest hint of a sparkle in his eyes. “Do you plan to take the opportunity?”

Emhyr smiled wryly. “Would it surprise you to learn that I also do not have a strong enough grasp on the social situation to risk it?” he asked.

“It would shock me,” Morvran said.

The downside to Morvran being very clever was, unfortunately, that he was _very clever_. He could not be told a half-truth without seeking out the other half.

“Would it perhaps surprise you less that I have no desire to navigate it for the sake of sex?” Emhyr asked instead. “Not that I think you should worry. You are young, and unattached, and while you will one day be a very important man, you are now only the son of one and the friend of another. You may have whoever you like with minimal consequences as long as you have the good sense not to get anyone pregnant.”

“Friend?” Morvran asked, his eyes wide.

Emhyr blinked at him. “I would hope I can consider you a friend.”

“Of course!” he said. “I didn’t mean to imply… I’m only surprised.”

“Morvran, I would not spend so much of what little leisure time I have with you if I didn’t _like_ you. Your company is very agreeable and you are remarkably bright. I would like to be surrounded by young people like you, the future of the empire, at every possible opportunity.”

“I am honoured,” Morvran said after a slight pause. He was more than honoured—he was flattered, Emhyr could see, though he shouldn’t have been. If anything, Emhyr should have been flattered that Morvran would intentionally keep his company. Very few people liked him.

“Stay in the palace,” Emhyr said. He had not necessarily intended to extend the offer so suddenly, but he had always intended for Morvran to stay here. If he went home now, there was every chance that all the work of keeping him away from his father would be undone in short order.

“For the evening?” Morvran asked, as though that had not gone without saying.

“Indefinitely,” Emhyr clarified. “You’ve proven yourself a valuable and insightful advisor, and the empire could use a younger voice in the ear of the emperor. Don’t you think?”

Morvran’s wine-stained lips fell open, his tongue darting out to wet them. “I would… I… yes, yes of course. I would be very pleased to serve you, Your Majesty.”

“Good. Then we will consider the matter settled.”

Emhyr did not miss Morvran glancing in his father’s direction. He smiled, though perhaps not for the reasons Morvran might have guessed.

“You may go and tell your father, if you wish. He should be very proud.”

And he should have been, but Emhyr knew he would not be. Which was his loss. A man like Morvran Voorhis was not to be squandered, and one thing Emhyr’s enemies had right was that he was the perfect candidate for a successor.

But it would be on Emhyr’s terms, after he had shaped Morvran’s heart and mind himself.


	3. Chapter 3

It took Morvran two weeks of living in the palace to notice that when Emhyr did not have meetings of some description over meals, he requested his company at almost every occasion, save for a few which Morvran strongly suspected he had skipped.

“Emhyr,” he began cautiously, waiting until the emperor’s mouth was full so he couldn’t respond right away. “I…”

How could he possibly phrase the question he wanted to ask without insulting Emhyr? Even thinking it felt rude.

“I’m not sure how to ask this.”

“You might simply ask,” Emhyr suggested, sipping the richly-scented morning blend of tea that Morvran had quickly grown used to. “I would like to think that you are always candid with me.”

“I’m afraid of losing something I enjoy by mentioning that I have it,” Morvran said honestly.

“And what might that be?”

“Your undivided attention over breakfast almost every morning.”

Yes. That was a good way to approach his curiosity. Simply raise the subject and allow Emhyr to dictate how much he wanted to share.

“Ah,” Emhyr smiled wryly, and Morvran was pleased to be on the receiving end of his smiles so often now. They still felt like a rare and precious resource that few people would ever see.

“And you wonder why this is?”

Morvran nodded, the tips of his ears warming at the admission. Emhyr read him so easily that he sometimes wondered if the emperor could actually hear his thoughts.

“And you are afraid of voicing your suspicion that I have no one else to have breakfast with, despite the fact that this is very obvious.”

Now that Emhyr phrased it like that…

It was obvious, or should have been. Emhyr had no wife, no children, no immediate family, and was still, Morvran knew, in the process of sorting traitors from those who had been loyal during the Usurper’s reign.

He could not, Morvran suddenly understood, afford to trust many people his own age, or older. Almost none, in fact. They were old enough if not to have had a hand in his family’s murder, then at least to have been loyal to their murderers.

Morvran was too young to remember much of the Usurper at all, though he did remember, with an uncomfortable twist in the pit of his stomach, that he had met him on more than one occasion. That he had been told that Fergus was weak, and his son would have been, too.

And he remembered meeting Emhyr for the first time when he was six or seven, and only realising later that this had been the emperor whom his father had agreed would be weak, and understanding then that his father was not right about everything.

Emhyr had been kind enough to him, but guarded, and it was only as an adult that Morvran could look back and see why.

His family and Emhyr’s were more closely tied, he suspected, than Emhyr would have liked. They were themselves fourth cousins, once removed on Emhyr’s father’s side, and a little more distant on his mother’s.

Close enough to belong in each other’s extended family trees, in any case. All part of the broader imperial family.

Half of whom were traitors to Emhyr’s branch.

Morvran could not even bring himself to think the name of the Usurper in Emhyr’s presence—indeed, he had trouble enough with it at any time—but he had heard it spoken in his home. Even after Emhyr had it scratched from every record.

And yet, Emhyr seemed to trust him.

“And as I’m sure your wonderfully sharp mind is now realising,” Emhyr said. “I would not trust most of them to pour tea for me. Or to be unattended within reach of a wine glass they knew I would drink from.”

“And yet you trust me?” Morvran asked.

Emhyr must have known, or at least suspected that his family were not precisely innocent. Not instigators, but not loyal. Morvran wasn’t sure his father believed in loyalty at all. He’d never demonstrated as much.

Much as it had pained him to lose his mother, he imagined she was happier without his father.

“Should I not?” Emhyr asked, sipping his tea. A clear indication that he did, whatever Morvran might say.

“Of course I will say that you should,” Morvran said. “But you have no way of knowing how sincere I am.”

“You know that it is more than likely that you would inherit the throne if I died today,” Emhyr said. “But you also do not feel ready for such a task. You will at least learn all you can from me before even considering my assassination. And should that day come, I would like to request, as a courtesy, that you choose something fast-acting. I would prefer not to linger.”

Morvran’s eyes widened.

This was how Emhyr lived.

Wondering who would betray him, and when, and hoping that it would at least come swiftly so he would not have to suffer through it.

Morvran swore to himself in that moment that it would not be him. Whatever happened, he would not be the one holding the knife or the vial of poison. Emhyr would never have anything to fear from him.

“I will not harm you,” Morvran promised. “You have done too much for me.”

Emhyr hummed thoughtfully.

“We shall see.”

***

“I understand you’ve grown quite close to my son,” Prince Voorhis announced as he was shown into Emhyr’s office, and it was only by chance that Morvran was not currently occupying the chaise nestled between the bookcases, the one that caught the afternoon sunlight in such a way that it allowed for very comfortable reading right up until sunset.

Which was to say: he was not wrong.

Emhyr had enjoyed a little more than a month of Morvran’s constant companionship, and they had already presented the new legislation that Morvran had first proposed to the senate. It would pass soon, without any serious objection.

And enjoyed was precisely the word he would have chosen, with complete sincerity. Morvran’s company felt like an incredible privilege to him.

“I understand the same,” Emhyr said. “And I believe this is also Morvran’s understanding of the situation, so that puts us all neatly on the same page.”

Prince Voorhis looked at him the way a kingfisher might have looked at a trout that refused to come close enough to the surface to catch.

“Was there something you wanted from me, Alwyn?” Emhyr asked, taking vicious pleasure in using his first name where he would not dare use Emhyr’s.

All this moment needed was for Morvran to enter his office and greet them both as he had become accustomed to.

“An explanation regarding what business you have keeping my son away from his home.”

“I am doing no such thing,” Emhyr said. “Morvran is here in his capacity as my advisor, and the Voorhis estate is too far to travel to and from on a daily basis. He is welcome to give up the position, or choose to make the journey as he sees fit.”

Emhyr paused, and then decided that he was, in fact, petty enough to continue.

“You might ask yourself why he would choose to stay away from his father, instead.”

Prince Voorhis made the closest thing to a growl that a human being was capable of, stirring both guards by the door into alertness.

“You sound unwell,” Emhyr said, pretending that he had misunderstood the sound. “Perhaps you ought to go home and get some rest.” He looked up, meeting Prince Voorhis’ eyes.

“Not until I’ve seen my son,” he said, a dangerous evenness to his tone.

As if summoned by the presence of his father, Morvran picked that moment to wander into Emhyr’s office, unhindered by needing to state his business or be announced, nose buried in a report.

He took up his usual place on the chaise, lounging along it without a word of greeting to Emhyr, completely missing his father’s presence.

Emhyr could not have choreographed a more effective performance if he’d had years to perfect it.

“Morvran,” his father said, a growl still in his voice. “Show some respect.”

Emhyr was quite certain that Prince Voorhis was not insisting for his sake, though the shock and horror on his face suggested he may have been fearful for his son.

Morvran looked up, blinking owlishly.

“My apologies, father. I didn’t realise you planned on coming here today.”

“He has become accustomed to working in that spot,” Emhyr said. “I’m sure he meant no harm in ignoring you.”

Perhaps one of the most wonderful things about Morvran was the way his confidence had bloomed in the time he’d been here. His time away had planted the seeds, and now the results were written all over the set of his shoulders and the speed with which he’d become comfortable sharing space with the emperor himself for most of the day, speaking to him as a friend and equal, and, Emhyr was proud to see, not bowing down to his father.

Morvran may not have technically outranked him, but Emhyr was happy for his father to see that Morvran held more political power in the palm of his hand than Prince Voorhis would ever even brush up against.

“He’s made himself very, very useful to me,” Emhyr continued. “A shining example of the future of the empire. I consider myself very lucky that he chooses to spend so much of his young life with an aging emperor.”

“Hardly aging,” Morvran spoke up. “Firmly in your prime.”

Emhyr could not entirely hide his genuine pleasure at hearing that.

“And that he is willing to direct his not inconsiderable charm toward me,” he said. “Very lucky indeed.”

Prince Voorhis looked between the two of them, giving more or less the impression of a lidded pot which had reached a rolling boil.

“I am lucky to have your confidence,” Morvran said. “I would be nowhere else but at your side.”

Emhyr turned to the elder Voorhis, meeting his gaze as placidly as he could manage.

“I am glad,” Prince Voorhis gritted out. “That you find my son so useful. May he serve you well.”

“Thank you,” Emhyr responded cheerfully. “Join us for dinner, if you like.”

Emhyr felt Morvran’s gaze on him, a moment of shocked betrayal that hit him in the centre of the chest.

“No,” the prince responded much too quickly. “As you say, I should go home and rest. Thank you for your time.”

He bowed deeply—much too deeply, the panicked bow of a man who wished to be anywhere but where he was—and swept out of the room with barely a glance at his son.

Emhyr waited a beat, until the footsteps faded, and then spoke up again. “I knew he would refuse,” he said. “And on the off chance he accepted, there would have been an unavoidable emergency regarding state matters that I required your full attention to assist in solving.”

“Oh,” Morvran said softly, the tension Emhyr could feel rolling off him even at this distance beginning to ease.

“Morvran…” Emhyr sighed. He would eventually have to tell Morvran the whole truth, since he could not risk it coming out some other way.

However, he feared that the moment he did, he might lose a young man he had come to value very highly.

And yet delaying any longer was both risky, and the route to greater heartbreak should the wost occur.

“I insisted you should be sent to see the empire and allied states in order to remove you from your father’s influence, and from the centre of a scheme in which you were to take my place as emperor… by force, shall we say. To be controlled by a small group who, for various reasons, would prefer I was out of the way.”

“But also,” Emhyr added. “Because you are the first Voorhis in living memory not to be an utter waste of space. You were always a bright boy, and I hoped that keeping you away from your father in your most delicate years might serve you well. And it has, and I meant every word I said just now.”

“I see,” Morvran responded, the papers he’d been reading moments ago hanging in his hand now.

After a moment, he spoke again. “I am aware that my father is… poised to be a traitor,” he said quietly. “Not to instigate anything, but to go along with whichever side he perceives to be the winning one. He was not loyal to you in your absence. But I am not my father.”

Emhyr paused, turning that information over in his mind. He had suspected, but he had not known. And he hadn’t had any notion of whether or not Morvran knew one way or another.

“Why tell me?” he asked.

“Because I also meant what I said,” Morvran replied. “I would be nowhere else but by your side.”

To his complete surprise, a lump formed suddenly in Emhyr’s throat. He felt as though a fist had closed around his heart for a moment, chest contracting painfully.

“Then you will always have a place there,” Emhyr promised, still meaning every word.


	4. Chapter 4

Morvran woke with a start as a hand alighted on his shoulder.

He should not have been sitting at Emhyr’s desk in the first place, and he should not have fallen asleep at it.

He certainly shouldn’t have been caught by the emperor himself, long after sunrise.

“Have you been here all night?” Emhyr asked, and it was difficult to read his tone exactly, but he wasn’t happy about it.

“I…” Morvran swallowed. “I must have been.”

“Why?”

Morvran glanced down at the papers he’d been working on—now smudged where he’d fallen asleep on them.

“The senate are slowing things down for you,” Morvran said. “I was drafting letters, hoping to nudge them along.”

“And you stayed up all night to do it?” Emhyr asked, raising an eyebrow.

“You often work through the night. I have seen you about to keel over at breakfast.”

Emhyr sighed. “Morvran…” he began, reaching out to touch Morvran’s cheek where it was now covered in ink.

His thumb stroked along the rise of it, broad hand big enough to frame much of Morvran’s face, the heat of it at once soothing and…

Stirring.

Morvran swallowed past a sudden lump in his throat.

“I will not hand you an empire that crushes your soul,” Emhyr said softly, still stroking along Morvran’s cheek, holding his gaze with those deep, sad eyes that anyone could see belonged to a man who had lived beyond his years, seen more than anyone Morvran had ever met.

Emhyr had suffered. It was written in every line of his regal face, etched into him. Carved into him, deep and crisp as stonework.

The urge to ease that suffering, to melt it away and offer him the warmth he had so clearly been without for so long, welled up in Morvran’s chest as it so often did.

“You must not work through the night for my sake. Not for any reason other than a genuine emergency. I will not have it. The empire will survive a nap.”

“But _you_ —”

“I know,” Emhyr said softly. “I know, you are only following my example, and I see now what a poor one I’ve made.”

“You haven’t,” Morvran insisted.

“While I appreciate your loyalty,” Emhyr said. “I do not need you to protect me from my own shortcomings. You must promise me you will rest, and in exchange, I will promise that you will enjoy my full, rested attention at breakfast from now on. Acceptable?”

Morvran nodded carefully, not wanting to dislodge Emhyr’s hand any sooner than absolutely necessary.

“Good,” Emhyr murmured.

Morvran’s heart stopped for a beat as Emhyr leaned in, the certainty that the emperor was about to kiss him gripping it tight. His eyes fell closed, the anticipation too much to bear, and he didn’t draw breath again until the expected kiss came.

To the top of his head.

Morvran was torn between delight at what was a sweeping gesture of affection from Emhyr and disappointment at the paternal distance.

“Go to bed, Morvran,” Emhyr said, his hand finally falling from Morvran’s cheek. “We will eat in the afternoon, and you will tell me about which senators you feel would be most receptive to being nudged along. Then, we will dine with them tomorrow. You are far more charming in person than you could ever be by way of letter.”

The compliment turned over in Morvran’s head as he rose and, with a nod of his head, bid Emhyr goodnight, making the suddenly arduous trip to his own rooms at little better than a stumble.

He stripped off and climbed under the comfortingly heavy winter blankets, and tried not to think of Emhyr slipping in beside him, kissing his lips, pressing his body into the sheets and touching him everywhere, warm hands raking over delicate skin, a fantasy he had often entertained in the back of his mind, but never so vividly, never with Emhyr’s scent still in his nostrils.

He could not have it, and therefore he could not afford to want it.

***

“You did well tonight,” Emhyr said, draining the last of his glass of wine. “I believe you chose exactly the right people to influence in our direction, and they were all very taken with you.”

“Thank you for allowing me the opportunity,” Morvran responded, finally settling beside Emhyr on the small lounge.

If he sat a little too close, Emhyr was not about to mention it.

If this particular lounge was slightly too small for two people to sit at anything other than an intimate distance, Emhyr was not about to admit he had chosen it specifically for that reason.

He had almost kissed Morvran yesterday. He had wanted to.

And Morvran, in turn, had wanted him to. He’d been prepared for it, waiting for the moment when Emhyr’s lips would touch his own, and only missed how close that had come to happening because he’d closed his eyes in anticipation.

It was a path Emhyr could not help but consider travelling.

Morvran was beautiful. Young and bright and eager to please, long-limbed and elegant, previously untouched, Emhyr was quite certain, and that too held some interest. The thought of being able to shape him in this way, as well, appealed to Emhyr’s sensibilities.

But it was a step beyond the position of mentor he had put himself in, and he was not certain it would be fair to Morvran, either. Emhyr was not sure he could give him the things he needed in a lover—physically, he was confident he’d be adequate, but emotionally…

Emotionally, he would have fantasised about being able to give himself to this wonderful young man, whom anyone in the empire would be lucky to have, and for whom his affection only grew with each passing day. But fantasy was not reality, and when the moment came, when he would need to let Morvran into his heart in order to save breaking both of them, he was not certain he would be able to go through with it.

And yet he _wanted_ to.

“Are you all right?” Morvran asked, and Emhyr glanced at him to see concern in his pretty, soulful eyes, eyes that were always alight with the connections his wonderful mind was making, more than fast and sharp enough to match Emhyr’s.

At this precise moment, though, he was leaning back against the lounge, and Emhyr’s arm had been spread along it since before Morvran had settled beside him, and it would only have taken the smallest movement to wrap it around his shoulder and pull him close, give in to the swell of possessiveness in his chest, the urge to have this perfect creature for himself, wholly and utterly.

“I am considering my options,” Emhyr said after a moment. “And it is wise always to take as much time as is practical to do so.”

Morvran would move in short order. He would no longer be so temptingly close in the space of just a few minutes, perhaps, bidding Emhyr goodnight and closing this path off again for who knew how long.

And failing to make a decision before Morvran moved was no decision at all. It meant putting the decision in Morvran’s hands, and this was not a responsibility that should have rested on his shoulders.

Morvran did move, but not in the way Emhyr had feared he would. Instead, he shifted to the side, throwing his long legs over the arm of the lounge and leaning back against Emhyr’s side.

His head came to rest against Emhyr’s shoulder, the weight feather-light but grounding. It was exactly the same feeling as having a wild animal approach voluntarily.

Emhyr could not begin to fathom what he had done to encourage or indeed deserve so much easy intimacy, but he was loathe to give it up. Morvran fit against his side as though he had been carved specifically for the purpose.

That was the problem. Morvran fit.

Morvran had eased seamlessly into his life and filled up so many gaps as to make Emhyr’s days full of him.

Why shouldn’t Emhyr want to fill the rest?

Other men, he was certain, did not agonise so profoundly over the possibility of taking a lover, particularly one so well-suited to the task. Morvran was certainly willing, and had proven himself as loyal and trustworthy as possible, and he was clever enough to hold Emhyr’s interest out of bed, as well.

Morvran shifted against him, and with the bare minimum of conscious thought, Emhyr shifted as well. Turning his body ever so slightly, allowing his arm to fall from the back of the lounge and along Morvran’s side instead.

He leaned in, breathing the soft, clean scent of Morvran’s hair, and pressed a kiss to his temple.

The hitch of Morvran’s breath momentarily absorbed all of Emhyr’s attention.

“Was that all right?” Emhyr asked, unwilling to push for anything Morvran didn’t want. Desire was one thing, but the willingness to act on it was quite another.

Morvran tilted his head, twisting to meet Emhyr’s eyes. “Yes,” he said, breathless.

Which made it all too easy to give in to the impulse to tilt his chin up, and kiss his lips. Emhyr tasted the wine on them, and the sweetness buried under it, Morvran’s lips parting eagerly under his, his body twisting around so he could deepen the kiss.

“I would give you anything,” Morvran murmured, and Emhyr believed it. Unfortunately for this beautiful, clever young man who had the world at his fingertips, he would have given Emhyr anything.

It was a waste, but it was not one Emhyr could bear to put a stop to. He wanted this too badly, and he knew now that he never could have resisted it forever.

Silently, Emhyr drew him into his lap and kissed him again, hands framing his narrow waist.

But it would do neither of them any favours to fall into this unconsidered.

“You are lovely beyond measure,” Emhyr said, reaching up to run his fingers through Morvran’s hair. “Go to bed, Morvran. Think on this. If you decide not to pursue it, it will be as though nothing ever happened.”

Morvran opened his mouth to protest, but clearly thought better of it after another moment.

“I should have known nothing would be so simple with you,” he said instead, a warm, playful smile turning up one corner of his lips. He swooped in, pressing another soft kiss to Emhyr’s lips that made his stomach clench.

And then rose, and righted his clothes, and drained the wine glass that he’d set down earlier.

“Good night, Emhyr,” he said, offering the tiniest of bows and another smile.

Despite his better judgement, Emhyr hoped Morvran would choose to do this again.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> smut ahoy (it's not terribly explicit but there are definitely naked Nilfgaardians in this chapter)

The question of how to seduce an emperor had never before occurred to Morvran, though now it consumed his every waking moment. He watched Emhyr sip tea over reports, legs crossed, back perfectly straight, the posture of a man who did not bend, not for anyone, and wondered how he might be made to…

Not yield, exactly. Not only did Morvran know that to be impossible, he also didn’t want it. He did not wish to make Emhyr weak.

All he wanted was to be taken to bed by a man he had idolised for as long as he could remember, and who finally seemed to have seen him as a potential partner. Who saw potential, at least.

He understood Emhyr’s hesitation. It had been framed as a chance to reflect, but Morvran saw it for what it was: fear. Fear of beginning this new thing, of opening up to the possibility of getting hurt, though Morvran would have faster cut off his own hand than harmed Emhyr intentionally.

He liked to think that he would not do so unintentionally, either, though he could make no promises on that front.

All he had to offer was himself, and his loyalty, and all the love he held in his heart for his emperor.

Unfortunately, he could not offer vast experience, stunning beauty, or any concept of where to begin. When he had imagined this, Emhyr had always taken the lead.

Not that he would allow this to stop him. The path had been opened to him now. All he needed to do was decide how to tread it.

Morvran accepted a report he was passed, read for key points, and then set it aside, as he always did. There was a routine to this.

Sometimes, it was very easy for Morvran to imagine himself as Emhyr’s beloved consort, sharing a life with him. It was easy to imagine that this was what they already had, that very little would change if Morvran stood now, crossed to Emhyr, and settled himself back down in his lap.

“I had planned to rest today, since the two of us have accomplished so much lately,” Emhyr said all of a sudden. “You certainly deserve the break, and I know you will not take it if I don’t.”

“You also deserve to rest,” Morvran said. “Perhaps…”

“Mm?” Emhyr looked up over the rim of his tea cup, clearly interested in what Morvran had to say.

“Forgive me if I ask too much, but… I have never seen the palace gardens. I thought perhaps… I understand you enjoy them, and I thought we could… I thought you might be persuaded to share them with me.”

Emhyr regarded him thoughtfully for a long moment, and then, to Morvran’s relief, nodded.

“Dress for a walk after breakfast,” Emhyr said, since they now both ate in nothing more than a nightshirt and robe of a morning. “And I will accompany you.”

Once he had Emhyr’s agreement, breakfast couldn’t be over quickly enough. Morvran was careful not to rush the emperor, but he couldn’t pretend he wasn’t excited by the prospect of having Emhyr all to himself for the morning.

They met up again in the courtyard that led to the gardens, Morvran dressed in loose trousers and a faintly purple tunic that he believed subtly brought out the colour of his eyes, which he knew were his most appealing feature.

Emhyr was dressed similarly, and barefoot as Morvran was, as everyone in the palace was at this time of year unless pressed into wearing boots or slippers by a formal occasion.

“A lovely morning,” Emhyr said. “Thank you, for pushing me to come out here. I so rarely have time to enjoy these gardens.”

“The sun does seem to smile on us,” Morvran agreed. “If you will pardon my saying so, it would please me to see you taking more time to yourself.”

“Would it?” Emhyr asked, the faintest note of amusement in his voice.

“I mean that sincerely,” Morvran said. “If I am not to work myself to exhaustion, then you must not, either. The empire can do without me. It cannot do without you.”

“Ah,” Emhyr said. “I see your argument has changed. You don’t think your appeal to your own pleasure had the desired effect?”

“I thought multiple reasons were more likely to sway you.”

Emhyr hummed. “Perhaps they are. Perhaps the empire will not descend into chaos over an afternoon or two of rest.”

“Perhaps,” Morvran repeated, unable to stop himself from smiling. It had taken him some time to understand Emhyr’s sense of humour, but once he had grasped it, he found he appreciated it for its reserve, and for its depth.

Something that amused Emhyr did so to his core, and anything else glanced off him.

He was like that in many things, Morvran had come to learn.

“I suppose I should ask you what new reforms you plan to work on next,” Emhyr said. “Since you seem determined to get a head start on shaping the empire.”

A week ago, Morvran would have hesitated over the question, worried he’d been too forceful, or too enthusiastic, or that he was straying into territory Emhyr himself did not wish to stake a claim to.

But he was certain now that the emperor cared for his opinion, and would listen to it, even if he did not agree.

“I have not yet decided,” he answered honestly. “If there’s somewhere you’d like to see me focusing my efforts…”

“No,” Emhyr said. “No, if you are yet to decide, then I can safely conclude that nothing strikes you as so urgent it must be dealt with immediately. You are content with the state of the empire for the time being.”

“I am,” Morvran agreed. “There is always room for improvement, but it need not be all at once.”

“Little by little.” Emhyr nodded. “You learn quickly.”

“I have had the luxury of an excellent tutor.”

“Really?” Emhyr asked. “I’ll have to thank them.”

Morvran chuckled as they came up to an elven fountain, bronzed figures frolicking under the cascading water. He paused for a moment to stare at it, delighted to have uncovered one of the many secrets the palace had to offer.

He doubted any man knew them all. Even Emhyr did not know every inch of the palace, and there would be hidden delights for him, too.

Hidden pain, as well, Morvran realised. He watched Emhyr’s face fall as he looked at the fountain, some unpleasant memory washing over the emperor’s features, and his heart ached for him.

Emhyr had suffered. More than anyone knew, Morvran was sure. No one was aware of the details of the emperor’s time in exile, and Emhyr kept it that way.

This was not a memory of that, he suspected, but an older one still.

Morvran wanted to know. Not out of prurient interest, or out of the desire to have leverage over Emhyr, but simply to know him. To know the man who was to everyone else simply the emperor.

Emhyr had called him a friend. Above all else, he wanted to be that.

With a surge of confidence, Morvran reached out, putting a hand on Emhyr’s shoulder to turn him away from the fountain. They were alone here, with no one to see them touch like this.

No one to witness the slump of Emhyr’s shoulders, the aching exhaustion in his eyes.

If Morvran had not already come to a decision, this would have made up his mind for him.

Stomach swooping, he leaned forward, hand tightening on Emhyr’s shoulder as he brushed their lips together.

Emhyr did not resist him this time. His lips parted with a sigh, the faintest sign that he was surrendering to this, and Morvran may not have had much experience to draw from, but he knew Emhyr was not merely humouring him. He could feel tightly-coiled desire in the emperor’s muscles, in the heat of his body, the insistence of his mouth as he kissed back, tentative at first but then possessive, taking control of the kiss.

Warm pleasure trickled into the pit of Morvran’s stomach, his belly filling with want and need, overwhelming desire to be close to Emhyr, to have as much of him as possible.

“I have thought on this,” Morvran murmured as the kiss broke, brushing his nose against Emhyr’s. “I would prefer not to ignore it.”

“I am not an easy man to… spend time with,” Emhyr said.

_Love_ , Morvran heard, whether or not he was meant to. And yet he couldn’t have disagreed more.

“It comes naturally to me,” he said, finally breaking away from Emhyr, certain that he would not lose him by catching his breath. “I have spent so much time with you already.”

_I have loved you for so long_.

Emhyr nodded slowly, glancing once more at the fountain before turning to walk in another direction.

Morvran trailed after him, excited by the possibilities that lay ahead.

***

The unexplored expanse of Morvran’s skin stretched out under Emhyr, flushed pink with arousal, pale and delicate in a way his own was not, sun-weathered, aged, and thick as tanned leather in places.

The sheer wealth he was being offered threatened to overwhelm him as Morvran looked up, tongue darting out to wet his lips, eyes glazed with arousal.

His cock stood proudly away from his body, the head dark and dripping, his eagerness written over every inch of him, and in that moment, Emhyr wanted it all. Everything he could have from Morvran, things Morvran both expected and did not expect to offer, but would gladly give up to a man he so idolised—though Emhyr knew that he didn’t for a moment deserve the depth of Morvran’s regard.

“Beautiful,” he murmured, running the tip of a finger along Morvran’s delicate neck, then tracing the line of his jutting collarbone.

Morvran only stared up at him—half struck dumb with the sheer magnitude of what was happening, half afraid to reach out and take what he wanted.

That would take time, Emhyr knew. Time and patience.

Thankfully, for the moment, they each had a surplus of both. This would satisfy Morvran’s impatience, and Emhyr in turn would be satisfied by the simple intimacy of touch—and nothing more—and they could continue to build their relationship in all ways as time went on.

Morvran hissed as Emhyr swooped in to press a trail of hot kisses along his throat, teeth just barely worrying the delicate skin, the faintest, teasing pressure a reminder of his vulnerability. To his credit, Morvran didn’t so much as flinch.

For reasons Emhyr did not entirely fathom, this young man didn’t fear him at all. Held him in the highest regard, treated him with all the awe and respect Emhyr could possibly have expected, but did not fear.

And he was right. Emhyr would not have hurt Morvran for anything. Nilfgaard could crumble around him, needing only the sacrifice of Morvran Voorhis to save it, and Emhyr would let it fall to protect this young man.

His heart, perhaps, had bolted ahead of his better judgement. Morvran would have appreciated the imagery, and the fact that it was much too late to close the stable doors now.

Morvran arched gratifyingly into Emhyr’s touch as he stroked a hand down his belly, pausing a moment to tease before curling his fingers around the length of the younger man’s cock, hot with blood and leaking eagerly, his fluids slicking the way for Emhyr’s hand, sure and steady, focused on bringing Morvran to a point where he sank into the mattress, muscles relaxing, sharp, over-quick mind slowing down enough to simply feel and enjoy.

Emhyr curled his free hand around Morvran’s shoulder, bracing himself so he could shift his weight, bring his hips down to meet him, and one day he would have Morvran like this, gasping and mewling and blushing, giving himself over entirely, the warmth of his body welcoming Emhyr eagerly.

And one day, if he was very lucky, it would be Morvran climbing on top of him, overwhelming desire pushing him to demand the use of Emhyr’s body for his own pleasure, and Emhyr would not so much allow it as revel in it, the simple joy of imagining such a day enough to make his heart feel tight in his chest, as though it had doubled in size.

A genuine, heartfelt moan escaped Emhyr as he lined himself up with Morvran, wrapping his hand around both of them. The overwhelming sense of Morvran’s desire nestled so intimately against him was enough to make even the emperor of Nilfgaard pause, his breath catching in his throat at the thought of how lucky he was.

“Emhyr,” Morvran gasped, hips rocking up into Emhyr’s hand, the head of his cock nudging his belly and leaving a streak of sticky fluid there. The fluid would wash off, but the mark was indelible, the knowledge of it having been there already seared into Emhyr’s being.

If he could say nothing else, he could say that he’d had this. This young man who was poised to be the best and brightest Nilfgaard had ever produced, eagerly writhing in his bed, gasping his name.

Any attempt he might have made at mastering himself fell away, Emhyr giving in, instead, to the sheer pleasure of Morvran, the warmth of his body, the softness of his skin, the tentative touch of curious fingertips, brushing against him here and there, finding sensitive places but never lingering, too eager to explore.

It was not artful or patient or worthy of inclusion among the reams and reams of erotic literature the empire produced as a whole—some of it about Emhyr himself, some of it even about Morvran, who was a much more popular fantasy object than he could possibly have realised—but it was thorough, and satisfying, and they peaked together, at almost the same instant, so caught up in each other that their bodies had simply fallen into line with their hearts and minds.

It was both too much and not enough, and when Emhyr rolled to the side, laying flat on the wide bed, panting for air with sweat cooling on his skin, he laughed. Not the cruel or wry laughter he was so used to, but laughter born from genuine joy blossoming in his belly, the bone-deep satisfaction of having had something truly good settling over him and keeping him pinned quite firmly to the mattress for long minutes.

The mattress shifted as Morvran rolled onto his side, keeping his distance, but only barely—the width of a finger between them, and no more.

“Was I all right?” he asked, and Emhyr laughed again, the question taking him by surprise.

“I should ask that of you,” he said, rather than dignify the notion that Morvran might have been anything less than wonderful with any other response. “You are the perfect image of Nilfgaardian youth, and I am very lucky to have you, as I have so often said.”

“I have wanted you since I was a boy,” Morvran murmured, embarrassment flushing his cheeks.

“I know, Morvran,” Emhyr admitted. The crush had been impossible to miss, though seeing it stay true in person had been… surprising. Not something Emhyr had expected, certainly.

Morvran had idealised an older man who paid him attention in ways no one else bothered to, and Emhyr had not expected that to translate to genuine regard once he returned and found his options much, much more open than he could possibly have anticipated.

And yet it had, and he did not doubt the sincerity of Morvran’s affection at all, or Morvran would not have been sharing his bed.

_You have me_ , Emhyr did not say. It was too much to admit.

But he knew it, all the same.

“And so I put the question to you. Was I all right?” Emhyr asked, turning his head to look Morvran in the eyes.

What he saw there made his breath catch in his lungs.

Pure, open, undisguised adoration.

_Love._

And Emhyr didn’t know quite what to do with that, but he knew he wanted it, and he knew he would fight to keep it.

“Yes,” Morvran said. “You were wonderful.”

Emhyr allowed himself a moment to breathe, focusing on not giving too much of himself away, though he would desperately have liked to show his heart to this perfect young man.

“Good,” he responded evenly, allowing himself a slow, sinuous stretch and the chance to sink deeper into the mattress, with no intention of moving just yet. “I would hate to disappoint you.”

And whatever it took, Emhyr would not disappoint him for any price.

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> eep I'm sorry this update is so late!! it was even already written I was just... very tired and kept forgetting :3

Morvran went back to his own bed of an evening, and joined Emhyr for breakfast as though nothing between them had changed, and only occasionally folded himself into Emhyr’s lap before the day began to steal a kiss and feel his emperor’s desire swell against him, leaving him with a teasing peck on the lips and an unspoken promise that he would be willing and eager come sundown.

Everything else went on as usual. Morvran worked in Emhyr’s office, and they debated policy and legislation—Morvran had grown more confident, and their discussions sometimes became quite heated, but they always came back to the same point—what was best for Nilfgaard, and what was achievable for Nilfgaard.

And once the point of contention was resolved, Emhyr would admit to admiring Morvran’s vision, and Morvran to admiring his practicality and innate sense of what could and could not be done, and they dined as friends and went to bed as lovers and the cycle repeated, often with no arguments at all.

This morning was different. An attendant had whispered something in Emhyr’s ear before they’d settled down to a light summer breakfast, both having forgone a robe in deference to the heat and sitting only in thin silk nightshirts, and the tiniest and most cryptic of smiles had been playing around the emperor’s lips all morning.

“If you won’t tell me the secret, I’ll get it out of Aya,” Morvran teased. “He likes me.”

The servants did like him, largely because he had learned their names, and a little about each of them, and remembered to ask questions about their lives and their opinions on current affairs and whether certain small things could be done for Emhyr to make him happier from time to time.

In turn, they treated him as though he really was Emhyr’s consort, and that encouraged him further. All for the sake of having people smile at him as he moved about the palace.

“You’ll only ruin it for yourself if you do,” Emhyr said, pouring himself a second cup of tea—chilled, this morning, with beads of moisture condensing on the outside of the pot. “There’s something I want to show you after breakfast.”

“A surprise?” Morvran asked.

Emhyr nodded, sipping his tea slowly. “One I think you will enjoy,” he said.

Breakfast—usually one of Morvran’s favourite parts of the day—suddenly couldn’t be over soon enough. He was careful not to rush Emhyr—he was always careful not to rush Emhyr—but by Emhyr’s third cup of tea and fourth report, Morvran was beginning to think the emperor was intentionally lingering now to tease him.

But it was difficult to be upset about Emhyr feeling he could tease, or over seeing him playful. Morvran knew he had changed—grown up a great deal—since he returned to Nilfgaard, but he had also watched Emhyr change. The emperor smiled more often—and at more people—and entertained an increasing number of guests, and looked forward to rest days.

And while Morvran did not flatter himself to think this was all because of him, he liked to think he’d been some part of the cause. Some help to this man who sincerely deserved to be happier than he was, who gave his life over to the service of the empire and had to be coaxed into taking the few breaks he took.

This, in a way, was his service to the empire. Taking care of the emperor, as best he could.

When breakfast was over, they parted ways to dress and then reconvened, surprisingly, outside the palace stables.

“I hope you’ll forgive me for how long this has taken,” Emhyr said. “Without being able to take the benefit of your expert knowledge, I had some trouble making an informed selection.”

He nodded to an attendant, and Morvran’s eyes widened as, a moment later, two zebras were led out onto the forecourt, their coats glossy and their steps measured.

They were as fascinating as he remembered, beautiful creatures he’d fallen in love with at first sight, though he had never expected to see them in Nilfgaard.

“I…” he turned to Emhyr, at a loss for words.

“A breeding pair,” Emhyr said. “Since you are a horse breeder at heart. I hope I have chosen wisely.”

Morvran had only the most cursory idea of what he was looking for in a zebra, but these two seemed healthy, and calm, and in good spirits.

The urge to throw his arms around Emhyr in thanks washed over him, his toes curling into the dirt beneath them as he physically forced himself not to. Their affair was a private one—not by any means a secret, but the kind of private thing that they did not acknowledge in public.

“For me?” he asked, barely believing that Emhyr would have gone to this kind of effort for his benefit.

“Obviously,” Emhyr said. “As thanks for securing much stronger trade relationships between Nilfgaard and Zerrikania. The least I owe you for your invaluable input.”

“May I?” Morvran asked, already taking a step toward the two magnificent beasts.

The ghost of a smile played around Emhyr’s lips. “Of course. They are yours.”

The effort of not running over like an excited child made Morvran’s legs ache as he paced as sensibly as he could, barely stopping himself from skipping the last few steps. Once he reached the first zebra, he made no effort to hide his affection, cooing and nuzzling as he would have with a horse he had known for years, thrilled when the zebra accepted this placidly and snorted in his hair.

The sound of Emhyr approaching pulled Morvran away, but only a little way. He was aware that the emperor saw horses as thoroughly useful animals, but held no special affection for them.

These ones, he thought, might change the emperor’s mind. They were exceptionally sweet-tempered.

“They are, of course, yours to do with as you see fit. And my motives are not entirely concerned with your pleasure, but also with people seeing that Morvran Voorhis, one of the most fashionable young men in Nilfgaard, chooses to keep them. Thus creating a demand.”

Morvran nodded, though he wasn’t sure where Emhyr planned to go with this.

“I wondered if you might be convinced to keep them here. There’s plenty of room in the gardens for them to be happy, I think, and it’s high time you were moved into more permanent rooms. That is… if you were planning to stay more permanently.”

Blood rushed in Morvran’s ears.

Emhyr did not ask if people were planning to stay.

Except that he had always offered Morvran the choice. Morvran had simply never considered refusing the opportunity.

But permanent rooms were different. This would no longer be a situation in limbo, a close adviser being saved the trouble of a long trip back to his family home of an evening while there was important business to attend to.

This was an offer of a new home—and a home in the Imperial palace, no less. Traditionally, a place for family.

And he and Emhyr were family, but not so closely that this was a usual state of affairs. A first cousin, perhaps, who Emhyr actually liked might be the outer limit.

But Emhyr had no first cousins. No siblings or aunts or, Morvran thought with a pang of sadness, parents or children.

They were all gone, and his own uncle had seen to it.

“Yes,” Morvran said, before he’d fully come to the conclusion himself. “Yes, I… I’d like that. To stay here. Permanently.”

Emhyr nodded, and while another man would have missed it, Morvran caught the relief that washed over his face. He had been worried that the answer might have been no.

As though Morvran would have wanted to be anywhere else but here.

“Good. I’ll have it arranged,” Emhyr said, reaching out to stroke one of the zebras. “They are quite charming, aren’t they?”

“Yes,” Morvran agreed again. “A little difficult, I think, but worth the trouble.”

Another tiny smile. “You have a knack for navigating the difficult, Morvran,” Emhyr said. “I’m sure they won’t give you any trouble at all.”

***

Emhyr var Emreis was not a man prone to nervousness, but waiting for Prince Voorhis to join him in his study—sans Morvran, for once, who had been carefully otherwise occupied too far away to walk in on them—was, to put it mildly, nerve-wracking.

He hated to ask a favour of a man who would have happily seen him hang, but he could see no other way forward. No other way of giving Morvran what he fully deserved, a position that matched his place in Emhyr’s life, and would allow him to take on the tasks and duties to which he was so well-suited without any objections being raised.

Alwyn Voorhis was an unpleasant man at the best of times, and having to go through him for this was somewhere between offensive and humiliating.

He did, at least, have the courtesy to arrive more or less on time, wearing a scowl that might have been enough to make another man cower.

Cruel, selfish, and stupid. That, as far as Emhyr could tell, was the full extent of his personality.

“Your Majesty,” Voorhis gave a shallow, barely-acceptable bow before straightening immediately, knowing that it wasn’t worth the trouble of correcting him and determined to push Emhyr’s patience to the limit.

The temptation to do away with him and remove the obstacle entirely flared up in Emhyr’s chest as it so often did, but the thought of a grieving Morvran—or worse, of Morvran ever finding out that it had been his doing—stayed his hand.

Morvran loved his father a great deal more than the man deserved.

Emhyr sat back in his chair, regarding the man in front of him.

There was really nothing for it but to ask. Hopefully, he wasn’t so stupid that he wouldn’t see what an advantage he was being offered.

“I plan to take Morvran on as a concubine,” Emhyr said. “With your permission, of course.”

“No.”

 _No_.

Emhyr fought not to visibly twitch.

No negotiation. No _what are you offering_?

Just _no_.

Stupid, selfish, cruel, and bull-headed in the worst possible way.

“No?” he asked as mildly as he could.

“No,” Prince Voorhis repeated. “No, I will not give you my permission. He can do better.”

Emhyr raised an eyebrow. Politically, it was very difficult to do better than the emperor.

Personally was another matter, though Emhyr held no illusions that Prince Voorhis genuinely cared about his son’s personal happiness. And Morvran would have been happy. Emhyr would have assured it, and he was such a simple man to please.

Emhyr pursed his lips. A better offer, then.

“Marriage,” he said. “A full marriage, and all that entails. He would rule beside me.”

The faintest smirk spread over Prince Voorhis’ lips. “No,” he said once more.

Emhyr paused to take a deep breath.

This was about sheer spite, then. Not getting a better deal, not what the Voorhis family could get out of such a union, aside from the union itself—which was perhaps the most valuable thing in the empire to a family of their status—but out of a desire to prevent Emhyr himself from having something he so dearly wanted.

He would not beg. He would not.

No matter how much the thought of Morvran slipping through his fingers made his stomach clench and his heartbeat speed up uncomfortably.

“What possible reason could you have?” Emhyr asked.

Not that he needed a reason. Legally, Morvran was Prince Voorhis’ property, and while Emhyr could conceivably have forced his hand, that was too dangerous a thing to consider.

Even for Morvran. Especially when he did not need to marry him to protect him, or to enjoy the continued benefit of his company.

Not yet, in any case.

“You are asking me to legitimise a relationship I object to in the strongest possible terms,” Prince Voorhis said. “The whispers have reached even the servants in my own household, and you have the gall to ask me now as though you haven’t been doing whatever you please with my son.”

“Do the whispers also inform you of Morvran’s enthusiasm for the current situation, or has that escaped your notice?”

It was the wrong thing to say, it would only provoke at this point, but it was clear that Prince Voorhis would not be moved on this subject without the application of force, and Emhyr was unwilling to do that. For the sake of not upsetting Morvran, the only option was fair and open negotiation.

Prince Voorhis glared.

“Is there anything I can offer you to sway your decision?” Emhyr tried, suspecting it was unlikely. He was offering the man’s son a guaranteed path to the throne—and all Morvran would have to do was outlive Emhyr, which seemed highly likely.

“I would be remiss in my duty as a father to allow such a marriage under any circumstances,” Prince Voorhis said. “Morvran has many fine qualities, but he cannot give you an heir. You would discard him as soon as you found someone who could, and then what chance would he have to find someone who would accept the emperor’s cast-offs?”

“You are not so stupid that you cannot see he would become my heir. I have no intention of siring one whose temperament I could never predict when I have already gone to such trouble to make sure Morvran himself is suitable for the task.”

“Then you need not marry him,” Prince Voorhis said.

Unfortunately, he was right. Emhyr’s desire to marry Morvran was painfully personal. Without such a relationship in place, Morvran might feel he had cause to find another.

The loss of his company and affection would have been a real and serious blow.

“I see you will not be swayed. Have you considered how Morvran might take this news?”

“You have not told him, and you have no intention of telling him,” Prince Voorhis said perceptively. “You fear making him choose between us because you are uncertain he would choose you.”

All of which was true.

Emhyr hoped Morvran would choose him, if it ever became necessary for him to make such a choice, but he did not wish to gamble on it. Morvran was loyal by nature, and that loyalty, Emhyr suspected, would extend to his father regardless of his actions.

The one comfort he could take was that Prince Voorhis was likewise wary of asking Morvran to make such a choice.

“Fine,” he said eventually. “I won’t keep you from your own affairs any longer.”

Not quite as satisfying as get out, but the veneer of civility had to be kept in place.

Prince Voorhis offered another cursory bow and, without further comment, left.

If he thought he had the upper hand now, then he had severely underestimated Emhyr’s capabilities.


	7. Chapter 7

Emhyr pushed into the gap at the top of Morvran’s thighs with an easy, spit-slicked slide that made Morvran shiver at the shocking intimacy of it. They didn’t do this often, and Morvran had come to understand that this was because Emhyr didn’t _allow_ himself, and only succumbed to the desire to be close like this when he was feeling particularly stressed.

Vulnerable.

In this position, Morvran couldn’t see his face, and he suspected that was by design. But he could feel the emperor’s cock sliding against him, nudging the sensitive spot behind his balls, teasing and catching against another place Morvran so desperately wanted his touch but did not dare ask for. This was the closest they’d come to _that_ , and for now, it was enough.

Anything Emhyr offered was enough. The joy of being with him in any way he preferred made Morvran’s soul sing.

Emhyr’s hand stroked along his side, broad and warm and dipping teasingly down to the soft skin of his belly where his cock was waiting, hard and leaking and eager, desperate for Emhyr’s touch.

The soft press of Emhyr’s mouth against his shoulder sent a tingle of pleasure skittering over his skin, teeth digging into his bottom lip as he stifled a moan.

“There’s no one to hear,” Emhyr murmured. “No one but us.”

A broken sob escaped from the depths of Morvran’s chest. He wasn’t consciously trying to be quiet, not really, though he did now know that rumours of his enthusiasm had reached as far as his father’s home, and it had been a surprise to him to realise that it no longer seemed like _his_ home.

He had not discussed this knowledge with Emhyr, but all the same, Emhyr had taken care to ensure greater privacy tonight. As always, he _knew_ , and he had taken Morvran’s comfort into account, and how anyone could call this man a monster was beyond Morvran’s understanding.

Emhyr had been nothing but kind to him, kinder than anyone else.

A broken moan escaped him as Emhyr’s warm, strong hand finally curled around his shaft, stroking with the same infinite care as always, teasing sensitive places _just_ right, the way he’d learned to after careful experimentation and observation, as studied in this as he was in all other things. Another gasp as the head of Emhyr’s cock caught against the entrance to Morvran’s body, and a desperate wish that he would just take him, like that, fully and completely washing over him.

The frustration made him cry and whimper, but Emhyr soothed him with open-mouthed kisses and a firmer grip. He nuzzled Morvran’s neck and stroked his cock, all the while thrusting between his thighs, measured and careful, but with increasing speed and force.

Morvran peaked all of a sudden as Emhyr hit a sensitive spot head-on, gasping as he tumbled over the edge and spent himself all over his own belly and Emhyr’s hand, as he so often did.

How many people could say they’d had the privilege of that?

It was clear to Morvran that he was not Emhyr’s first lover, but he had begun to suspect the number was not high.

Emhyr followed him over, gasping against the oversensitive skin of his shoulder as he, too, finished, coming in messy spurts between Morvran’s thighs, his hips jerking and then stilling, a deep, satisfied sigh ghosting over the back of Morvran’s neck.

After long moments, Emhyr rose, cleaned them both off, and then climbed back into bed.

Morvran rolled over to face him, worried that his emperor was hiding some pain or frustration that he might soothe.

This was his duty to the empire, after all. Emhyr took care of the people, and in turn, Morvran took care of Emhyr.

And he was well-rewarded for his undertaking, as far as he was concerned.

“We only do that when you are upset,” Morvran said, throwing caution into the wind. He didn’t like to think of Emhyr suffering in silence, though he knew that was one of his worst habits.

Emhyr huffed, a humourless laugh escaping him, but his eyes sparkling with warmth as he looked over Morvran’s face. “I have allowed you to see too much of me,” he said, though not in a way that suggested he was likely to stop.

Which was just as well. Morvran wasn’t sure he could have handled the letdown.

Emboldened, he reached out between them and linked his fingers with Emhyr’s.

“You don’t have to tell me what it is,” he said. “Just tell me what I can do.”

Emhyr pursed his lips, eyes narrowing for a moment. Considering something carefully, Morvran knew. He’d said, once, that it paid to take as long as practical to consider a course of action before taking it.

Morvran would wait. He would wait until the sunrise—he would wait for a hundred sunrises—if Emhyr asked it of him.

“When I was driven out of Nilfgaard, I was cursed,” Emhyr began in low, serious tones. “Transformed into a kind of hedgehog beast from sunrise to midnight each night. It may have already occurred to you that this was a play on my name.”

Morvran felt as though his heart had stopped beating.

He had heard—but not understood—jokes about Emhyr’s name as a child. Crueller jokes than he had thought, as it turned out.

Emhyr reached out to stroke his hair, shushing him gently, and it was only then that Morvran realised how much of his distress was written on his face. “You have undoubtedly had contact with some of the very few people who were aware of this, and I do not fault you for it. You were a _child_ , Morvran. Do not feel guilty for actions you had no part in. You hadn’t even been born when this happened.”

Morvran swallowed thickly. Emhyr was not telling him this for nothing.

“The curse was broken when I fell in love with a princess-or rather, when the princess fell in love with me,” Emhyr continued, smiling wryly. “Hard as it may be to believe now, I was quite handsome in my youth.”

“You are very handsome now,” Morvran said solemnly, meaning every word.

“In any case,” Emhyr continued, as though he didn’t quite believe Morvran but didn’t have the heart to challenge him. “I married, and I had a daughter. Her name was Cirilla, and she would have been—or is, I suppose—almost exactly your age. I like to think you would have liked her, but I haven’t seen her in many, many years. I understand she is well, and wants nothing whatsoever to do with me.”

Morvran felt his mouth fall open, and couldn’t quite make himself close it. Not even as Emhyr continued his tale in detail, telling the story of how he lost and then regained the throne, but also of his time in the North, of his wife, of his formidable mother-in-law, of the witcher who’d stood up for him, of the baby he’d promised in return, of the little girl he’d loved with all his heart, the heartbreak of losing both wife and daughter at once. And then other stories, personal ones, about what it had been like to be a practically anonymous prince in a Northern court, where no one knew who he really was and he spent his days more or less idle.

Morvran didn’t realise he was crying until Emhyr wiped a tear from his cheek.

“Shh,” he murmured. “I am at peace with my past. I am telling you only because you have earned the privilege. You, Morvran, are the only person who knows the entire story, other than myself. And I am sorry to burden you with it, but you deserved to know.”

Nodding, Morvran forced himself to stop crying and turned his face to kiss Emhyr’s palm.

“I do not object to sharing the burden,” Morvran said.

Indeed, his greatest wish was to share Emhyr’s burdens, to lighten the impossible load he carried on his shoulders. Perhaps this was a first step in that direction.

“I realise I may now lose you,” Emhyr murmured. “And I would not blame you for it.”

Morvran shook his head. “No. You won’t lose me.”

If anything, Emhyr had guaranteed, more surely than ever, that Morvran would stand by him for as long as he was allowed to. Whatever happened.

“May I stay tonight?” Morvran asked, shuffling closer on the bed, wanting more contact with Emhyr. Wanting to rest his head against the emperor’s chest and listen to his heart beating and assure himself that despite his past, despite everything that had happened to him, he was here, and he was alive.

“You might have stayed any time you chose to,” Emhyr said. “I am lucky to have your loyalty and your patience.”

“You will always have it,” Morvran promised, shifting to curl up beside Emhyr, pressing their bodies together as he had long wished to do but never felt before that he _should_.

The last thing he was aware of before closing his eyes was the soft press of Emhyr’s lips against his forehead.

***

“I have a favour to ask,” Emhyr spoke up over breakfast, glancing at Morvran to watch his reaction.

Morvran regarded him over the rim of his teacup, listening patiently as ever. His attentiveness was a credit to him, and also a boon to Emhyr’s self-image.

This young man thought highly of him, and that felt like a miracle more often than not.

“I want you to take charge of planning the celebrations for the winter solstice.”

In the silence that followed, Emhyr could almost hear Morvran’s heartbeat thumping rabbit-quick in his chest.

It was an enormous request. The planning for the winter solstice celebrations was traditionally the domain of the empress.

The temple had been taking it upon themselves to plan them over the last sixteen years of Emhyr’s reign, in the absence of anyone more suitable.

Morvran was more suitable.

“I am asking too much,” Emhyr said after a few long moments when Morvran made no answer, only setting his tea cup down.

“ _No,_ ” he croaked.

Emhyr looked at him carefully, trying to read the shock on his face—was it horror, or simply surprise?

“No you will not do it, or no it isn’t too much to ask?” Emhyr raised an eyebrow that only barely disguised his own nerves.

“It isn’t too much to ask,” Morvran managed, clearly still stunned by the request. “But—”

“You have been performing every other duty that would be expected of a spouse _and_ performing them well. It is time you were publicly acknowledged. As long as this is something _you_ want.”

Morvran’s jaw fell slack for a moment before he remembered himself, shutting his mouth with a click and blinking instead.

“Your happiness and company is enough for me,” he said, voice trembling. “I have never expected public acknowledgement.”

Of course he hadn’t. Morvran had entered into this with every expectation of secrecy, of everyone _knowing_ without it ever being said that it was true. Of one of them eventually marrying someone else.

Emhyr had entered into it in the same frame of mind.

And yet now, he could not bear to give Morvran up.

Which meant that, though his father would not allow a marriage, publicly claiming him was an absolute necessity. Quite aside from the fact that Emhyr simply _wanted_ to, and didn’t feel he should deny himself if Morvran had no objection to being what he was, in Emhyr’s heart.

_His_.

“But would you accept it if it was being freely offered?” Emhyr asked.

Morvran’s brows drew together, his lips working as he obviously discarded the first answer he’d come to.

Perhaps he wouldn’t want this. Perhaps his feelings were not so strong as Emhyr’s, perhaps this relationship had existed, for him, only to sate his curiosity.

“I understand that I am asking you to effectively give up your own eligibility,” Emhyr said. “No one is likely to marry you if they believe I have such a strong claim on your affections. But I had thought… that is, I had _hoped_ that…”

“I would not choose to marry,” Morvran interrupted. “Not if… not if you will have me.”

The relief that washed over Emhyr was like no other in his long memory.

Morvran felt as he did. That this was more than a very slightly scandalous affair. That it _meant_ something, that it was something worth keeping.

“I asked your father for your hand some four months ago,” Emhyr said, glad that he could finally tell Morvran the truth. “He refused on the very reasonable grounds that you cannot bear an heir, and I could not persuade him that this made no difference to me.”

Morvran shook his head. “He refused out of spite,” he said.

Well. Perhaps Morvran had a better grasp of his father’s lack of regard for his happiness than Emhyr had imagined.

“I hadn’t planned to tell you,” Emhyr said. “But I see now that the problem with such a plan is that it meant I could never acknowledge what you have become to me, and I could never explain why that was.”

“Knowing is enough.” Morvran paused to sip his tea again.

Yes. Knowing _was_ enough for Morvran. He would be content in the knowledge that Emhyr had tried.

But it was not enough for Emhyr.

“I would also genuinely like your help,” Emhyr continued. “The empire has been putting up with the temple’s excessively staid, stifled celebrations. It’s high time we revived them and gave the people something to look forward to, don’t you think?”

“Of course,” Morvran agreed eagerly, clearly warming to the idea. “It _is_ an excellent idea, I was simply surprised by being offered such an important and… public task.”

“Well, it _must_ be you,” Emhyr said, sipping his tea. “Since you will be playing the part of the Moon at the temple ceremony.”

This time, Morvran’s teacup did not survive the shock.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is intolerably late and I'm so sorry!! work ate my entire life for a while there, but I'm back!!

Morvran stared up at Emhyr, awe welling up in his chest at seeing his emperor in his full glory, face painted black and gold, the living image of the Sun.

Emhyr was beautiful. He was not a man people would have described as attractive, and Morvran knew this. But he _was_ beautiful, in a way that defied the simple, common standards of attractiveness.

He was beautiful now, in this moment, about to stand before his people as their caretaker, their patron, their father, their god-in-life.

And Morvran would stand with him.

Dressed in a long white silk robe that covered little, Morvran would stand next to him, and he would not feel the cold of midwinter because Emhyr was there. The blazing Sun shining down over his people.

And Morvran the moon to his sun, being handed control of the empire for the winter—symbolically if not practically.

Winter was a time for family, and togetherness, and social occasions for all.

This was the domain of the empress.

A role Morvran had been asked to fulfill. Despite the lack of a marriage. Despite the likelihood that his father would be angry.

“Are you ready?” Emhyr asked, holding out his hand.

They so rarely touched in public.

Morvran took it, a spark of need shuddering along his skin, pooling in the pit of his stomach. Emhyr led him out to the high platform overlooking the crowd, overlooking his people.

 _Their_ people.

This was what this moment was for, wasn’t it? Emhyr could not claim Morvran as his husband, could not give him the position he was in now officially, but he could do this.

In front of all of Nilfgaard, he could do this.

They had rehearsed the ceremony a dozen times, and Morvran had watched it done since he was a boy, but always with a priestess in his place. His own role was simple, guided by Emhyr, always in his shadow until at last they stood together, staring down at the crowd for the climax of the afternoon.

Morvran’s veins thrummed with anticipation, with the roar of the crowd below, the heat and light of a thousand candles, the heat of Emhyr’s body, so close to his, his thin robe and painted body no barrier to the warmth of his emperor. His Sun. The man with whom his days began and ended, the light of his life, the most magnificent thing Morvran had ever seen.

And Emhyr had chosen him. _Him_ , of all possible people, to stand as his Moon. The beginning and end of his own days.

This was the first midwinter celebration Morvran had seen in Nilfgaard in seven long years, and he had forgotten the power of seeing the real thing. Or perhaps the power was magnified by being here, standing at the height of it all, the focal point of attention.

No one had paid much mind to Morvran Voorhis before he’d left. One of many golden children of the empire, and one who had been sent away, too.

But not now. Now, Morvran felt as though he must have been glowing with joy, sheer awe at the world and his place in it making his blood hum and his skin tingle, the barest brush of Emhyr’s fingers against it sending sparks of pleasure skittering everywhere.

When he turned to Emhyr, illuminated by the light reflecting off the gold paint on his skin, it was as if he was looking into the Sun itself.

And the Sun looked back at him, and smiled, and reached out. Strong, familiar fingers sliding under his robe, one hand on his hip, the other sliding into his hair, loose and lightly oiled, the heady fragrance rising again once it was disturbed, making his head light.

This was, truly, like touching the Sun.

Morvran moaned as Emhyr kissed him, loud enough to echo and be broadcast into the crowd, earnest down to the marrow of his bones. It was supposed to happen. It was a line like any other line in the ceremony, except Morvran had forgotten it the moment Emhyr’s hands had touched him.

The sudden sense of being set alight had made him moan again, skin burning under Emhyr’s touch, and he knew there were oils and paints and candles and carefully-chosen fabrics that created the effect, he _knew_ this, that the way he felt was as much alchemical as it was emotional, but it didn’t matter.

It didn’t matter.

All that mattered was that Emhyr was the Sun, and Morvran was caught in his familiar embrace. That the passing on of the light was both ceremonial and sincere, that Emhyr wanted him here—him, and no other.

The pressure started in the depths of Morvran’s belly, relief washing over him as he felt the beginning of an orgasm welling up there, deep inside him.

He had been dosed for this, the effect carefully measured, but the body would not be forced if the mind was not in agreement.

Morvran’s mind was in agreement. He moaned again as a shiver wracked his frame, Emhyr’s thumb brushing a sensitive place behind his jaw, one he was so used to being kissed in that it felt like it anyway.

His back arched, body aching to be closer to his emperor. The now-familiar rush of pleasure spilled over, forcing another gasp. The roar of the crowd below rushed in Morvran’s ears as he finished, panting, clinging to Emhyr for strength as his knees threatened to give out.

“Well done,” Emhyr murmured against his skin, breathing him in with a long, deep breath. “You were perfect.”

Morvran nodded, darkness clouding his mind, the aftereffects of the preparations given to him setting in. The world faded away around him, Emhyr lifting him into his arms the last thing he was aware of before everything was silence.

***

Prince Voorhis was, in a word, livid.

The vicious glee of watching him have to smile and accept congratulations for his son’s clear and obvious importance to the emperor would have been enough to keep Emhyr warm the whole winter long without the bonfires and the throng of bodies or the fur lining of his cloak.

But his mind also went, during every spare moment, to a still-recovering Morvran, bundled up in a chair and sipping mulled wine while attendants fussed over him.

Emhyr, quite uncharacteristically, wanted to fuss over him instead.

Extracting himself from the current conversation about road maintenance—an important but painfully boring subject that required no real discussion and had already been analysed to death—Emhyr made his way over to Morvran with a fresh goblet of wine, as well as a sweet pastry he knew would tempt the younger man.

The effects of the ceremony were still weighing heavy on him, though he had been perfect in every possible way.

Emhyr passed the fresh goblet to Morvran in exchange for his cold one, draining the dregs himself before setting it aside and kneeling beside him.

People would see.

And it was just as well that they did see Emhyr doting on Morvran. Just as well that there would no longer be any question as to his place at Emhyr’s side.

Morvran held the goblet in both hands, warming them on it. The day had been hard on him, but he still managed a small, sweet smile as Emhyr laid a hand on his knee, offering the pastry.

“I’m not hungry.”

“And yet you must eat to regain your strength,” Emhyr said. “You have already fainted once today.”

“I was supposed to,” Morvran pointed out.

“That does _not_ mean it wasn’t hard on you. I’m proud of you for going through with such a demanding task despite having no obligation to do so.”

Morvran sipped his wine. “I’m not doing this out of obligation.”

“I know,” Emhyr said.

Morvran did this—did everything he did for Emhyr—out of love. It was as obvious as it possibly could be.

Emhyr’s hand landed on Morvran’s knee, thumb stroking gently. “I know,” he repeated, lost for the words he needed to express everything he felt.

Gratitude, awe that Morvran was still here, pleasure at how well the ceremony had gone, pride in Morvran’s performance, satisfaction at having him come apart in his arms.

And love.

Emhyr had never quite spoken of love and perhaps he never would, but not speaking of it and not _feeling_ it were two very different things.

He had never loved another soul quite like he did Morvran. Indeed, no other soul had come close.

Morvran picked at the pastry Emhyr had set down on the arm of his chair, clinging to his wine goblet with the other hand. In the right mood, he took great pleasure in good wines and delicacies.

“You really would have married me, wouldn’t you?” Morvran asked.

The thought, clearly, had been on his mind. Why wouldn’t it be?

In all but an official sense, Morvran had ascended to the throne today, to sit beside Emhyr. In the coming weeks, Emhyr would have papers drawn up, laws nudged so that Morvran might be considered, if not his equal, then at least his partner in all things.

He had _earned_ it. He had earned all of this, and Emhyr would have married him for his mind and his help even without taking into consideration the happiness he felt when Morvran was happy, the ache in his chest when he was upset.

“A thousand times over,” Emhyr assured, drawing Movran’s hand to his lips to kiss the knuckles. “I am a selfish man, and I would call you my own.”

“I am already yours,” Morvran said. “I have always been yours.”

“And I am yours,” Emhyr responded, brushing the pad of his thumb over Morvran’s knuckles, red from the cold. He needed the protection of solid walls and the warmth and comfort of a bed, but he could not leave yet, and they both knew it.

Instead, Emhyr removed his cloak and settled it around Morvran’s shoulders, savouring the sigh of relief as the warmth of it sank into Morvran’s body.

He bent down to press a kiss to Morvran’s forehead, and then his hair. A silent promise that it would all be all right, that he would return, that Morvran need not endure this a moment longer than necessary.

“I will begin hinting that it is late,” Emhyr said, the faintest ghost of a smile turning up the corner of his lips, for Morvran’s benefit. “The people adore you,” he added. “They would not see you suffer. So you might choose to yawn as obviously as you like.”

Morvran laughed, soft and sweet as always. “They like me because you like me,” Morvran murmured. “But it would not take much effort to yawn.”

“You will be allowed to sleep soon,” Emhyr promised. “And should you fall asleep here, I will carry you to bed myself.”

And create quite a stir in the process, but perhaps not in a bad way.

After all, everyone knew by now that Emhyr had fallen hard for the young man he would have called his husband given half a chance. Morvran’s father could no longer hope to separate them without causing public uproar and giving Emhyr every excuse to step in.

They would have each other now. Whatever happened, Morvran’s place was secure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> one more chapter to go!


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FINALLY, I have finished this!! I bet you thought I was never going to (spoiler: I also worried for some time that I was never going to).
> 
> Enjoy this it's disgustingly fluffy and everyone's happy.

The bed creaked as Emhyr lowered Morvran onto it, the familiar protest finally giving Morvran permission to relax, let his exhaustion get the better of him. With only Emhyr to see it, he could let the strain show.

“I asked too much of you,” Emhyr said, tucking a strand of hair behind Morvran’s ear.

Morvran shook his head. “No. No, not at all. I am honoured.”

Emhyr had given him everything. Everything he possibly could have.

“Sleep, Morvran,” Emhyr pressed a kiss to Morvran’s forehead, lingering a moment to breathe in the scent of the oils he’d been anointed with, the last remnants of festivity.

Morvran grabbed a handful of Emhyr’s robes, the last of his strength pouring into his iron grip. “Don’t leave me,” he demanded. A demand he would never have made rested and entirely sober. He would make no demand on Emhyr, ever, except at this moment.

The thought of being separated was too much to bear.

After a moment’s pause, Emhyr eased himself onto the mattress, knees bracketing Morvran’s thigh, pinning his soft wool robe between his legs. Morvran shifted, biting his lip, his sensitive half-arousal rubbing against the fabric, just rough enough to send a shiver of need coursing through him.

“Emhyr,” he breathed, desperation getting the better of him. “Please.”

“Of course,” Emhyr murmured, features soften. “Of course, I should have realised. You must still be—”

“Yes,” Morvran interrupted, betraying just how badly he wanted this. “I want you. I want… I… you could take me, I’m yours now.”

The barest hitch in Emhyr’s breath was all the reaction he gave, citrine eyes fixed calmly on Morvran’s. Morvran thought for a moment that he might object, or refuse, or _reject_ , uninterested in that particular intimacy, unwilling to tie them together so thoroughly even in a way no one would know.

Perhaps the notion of Morvran being his would be too much, perhaps that was not the intention at all. Morvran prided himself on being able to read other people well, but Emhyr was always half-mystery to him, his desires clouding his judgement, the bone-deep need to look at him and see love in his eyes making it difficult to know what was real and what wasn’t.

“You’re sure?” he asked, a low rumble, only the flick of his eyes up and down Morvran’s body giving away any hint of desire returned.

Morvran relaxed, letting himself sink heavily into the mattress. Emhyr wanted this.

“I’m sure,” Morvran said. He had been sure since the beginning, certain he wanted to give himself wholly to his emperor, waiting until he had earned the privilege.

And Emhyr had given it to him.

Emhyr bent down, kissing Morvran’s forehead again, then his temple, cheek, the tip of his nose, finishing at his lips, a hard press and then a soft nip, hunger in the soft moan that vibrated in his throat.

A brief fumble for oil and Movran’s robes were spread open, the struggle of freeing himself from the sleeves exhausting, but his body too eager for sleep, heart too needy to rest until this was done.

The first touch of Emhyr’s fingertips made him gasp, but his still-drugged body accepted them eagerly, muscles relaxed and easy, nerve endings quick to sing with pleasure, a jolt of it making Morvran’s hips rise off the bed.

Emhyr’s broad hand splayed over his belly, thick fingers delving ever deeper, rocking in and out with Morvran’s hips chasing them, hot arousal pooling low and tight, thighs spread wide.

This was not the most comfortable way to do this, nor the easiest, and yet it was the _right_ way, and Morvran was not inclined to stop Emhyr, not now that he’d started.

“Emhyr, _please_ ,” Morvran begged through gritted teeth, the pit of his stomach burning with need, raised thighs so tense with it that they trembled. Nothing short of his emperor’s cock would satisfy the urge to be taken and claimed and made wholly Emhyr’s in every way that mattered.

Marriage was a mere formality now. Irrelevant in the face of all that had passed today.

And the whole empire would know it by the end of the week.

Morvran’s hips tensed to arch up at the first press of Emhyr’s cock, but the emperor held him down, pressing him firmly against the mattress.

“Let me,” Emhyr said softly, an offer rather than a command. Morvran nodded, breathing deeply to stop himself from squirming as Emhyr breached him, a firm, easy slide that made his whole body light up as if aflame.

Morvran’s ears rung with the pressure, the strangeness of it, until Emhyr stilled and paused.

“I do not deserve the trust you show me,” Emhyr murmured. “But I will always be grateful for it. Grateful for you.”

Morvran nodded, heart swelling with all the unspoken things Emhyr was telling him.

He was loved. Loved wholly and utterly.

Time fell away as they rocked together, breathing as one, heartbeats twined into point and counterpoint.

It mattered both less and more than Morvran had expected it to, even as the racing of his mind gave way to the pursuit of pleasure, all other concerns forgotten as hunger built in him, his thighs wrapped impatiently around Emhyr’s waist.

Spurring him on, silently begging for more, letting the last few wisps of intoxication get the better of him as he cried out, needy and eager, hands roaming Emhyr’s body in search of sensitive places.

Emhyr peaked with him, a breathless cry that might have come from either of them echoing out into the night, where the last few revellers were beginning to trudge home to their own beds.

Morvran arched as Emhyr pulled out of him, sighing, biting his lip, feeling as though something had changed. A sense of completeness fell over him, satisfaction settling deep into his bones.

He felt glorious and new and reborn, as though he’d grown up all in one night. Everything had changed.

But as Emhyr sank into the mattress next to him, everything was still comfortingly the same.

The last of the effects of the things still swirling around his system, surely. It was only a ceremony, after all. Theatrical and symbolic. There was no _real_ difference.

And yet something at Morvran’s core knew there was. Something undefinable, so subtle he would have forgotten it by morning and never notice it again.

Tonight, though, he was wholly new.

“Better?” Emhyr asked, voice low and tired as only Morvran was allowed to hear.

He nodded, squirming as an aftershock rippled through him. The thought of doing this every year made him laugh aloud, joy overwhelming him.

“The Moon,” he said, tilting his head back to peer out of one of the wide windows that bracketed the bed. The honour was so great he could still barely fathom it, though there had been months of preparation.

“One day you will be the Sun,” Emhyr rumbled, running his fingers through Morvran’s hair.

Morvran laughed again, bathed in love and happiness, and allowed himself to fall asleep with Emhyr’s hand still stroking his hair.

***

The moment Emhyr placed the crown on Morvran’s head, the sense of having completed a great task fell on him like a heavy fur dropped around his shoulders—usually, these days, by a concerned Morvran who worried that the last thing he needed was to be cold.

This was it. A plan some twenty years in motion finally coming to a conclusion. To exactly the conclusion Emhyr had intended on the day he’d sent Morvran Voorhis away to prepare him for it.

Twenty years later, Morvran still looked at him like he had at fourteen, wide-eyed and awestruck. As though he had never seen a more spectacular thing in his young life.

Thirteen years of being the Sun to his Moon. Thirteen long, happy years, years in which Emhyr had done everything he could to prepare Morvran for this task despite having little more experience of it.

He was ready. He would be a good emperor, with the welfare of his people in his heart. Incorruptible, clever, firm, and kind.

The use of zebras as work animals had all but ceased.

Morvran owned a small ornamental herd of them, as did many other fashionable Nilfgaardians.

He was still not forgiven for the short-lived fashion of wearing white and black stripes to match.

And now Emhyr was giving him up. Morvran was his own man now, with no need of an aging mentor—or indeed, lover. He would have to marry, and soon.

Anyone would have been lucky to have him.

This had _always_ been the plan.

Emhyr stepped back as the high priestess oversaw the rest of the coronation, sitting with the loss of the most important person in his life, the uncertainty about his own future. Morvran would no more throw him out of the palace than cut off his own arm, but perhaps it would be better to go. Toussaint was beautiful, Vicovaro warm enough that it would no longer be necessary to have a doting Morvran to keep him warm on cold evenings.

It was travel through these thoughts, tracing each one to their logical conclusion, that left Emhyr alone in the temple once the ceremony ended and everyone else had left.

Except for Morvran, who stood in front of him, tall and elegant, draped in black, his face painted with the gold details traditional for the occasion.

He had been pretty enough as a boy, but he had grown into a beautiful man.

“Your majesty,” Emhyr bowed his head before looking up at Morvran again.

A strange feeling to bow to anyone, but the fact that it was Morvran softened the blow.

“A beautiful speech,” he added.

“You didn’t hear a word,” Morvran said perceptively. “And I spoke so highly of you.”

He settled next to Emhyr on the long bench, still otherworldly and strange.

“I was preoccupied,” Emhyr said. “I must beg your forgiveness.”

“You can earn it instantly by treating me as though today is any other day,” Morvran said. “As an equal.”

Emhyr turned that thought over on his head. Once upon a time they had both thought of that as a privilege extended to Morvran, that of equality with the emperor though technically speaking he did not have it.

It had long simply been the way it was, a fact of their existence that nothing would ever change.

Perhaps he was right.

“You wear it well,” Emhyr said, nodding to the crown chosen for the occasion. His own father’s, one he had never worn but had always wanted to pass on to Morvran.

“I had some idea it would be heavy,” Morvran said. “But the weight still comes as a surprise.”

“Yes,” Emhyr said. “I wish I could tell you it becomes less with time.”

Morvran shook his head. “You have never lied to me before and you will not start now.”

“No,” Emhyr agreed. “No, I won’t. You can rely on my honesty in all things.”

A hum was all the answer Morvran offered, silence falling for a handful of heartbeats as they sat beside one another.

“I will have to marry,” he spoke up.

Emhyr’s stomach twisted.

Yes, of course. He had anticipated this.

But as Morvran had said, the weight still came as a surprise.

“Do you have anyone in mind?” Emhyr asked, dreading the answer. Morvran was as popular now as he always had been, and half of Nilfgaard would have walked over hot coals for just the barest chance to be considered.

He would make a loyal and caring husband to any of them.

“Just the one candidate,” Morvran said. “There is only one person I can imagine ruling beside,” he added, a breathless, dreamy quality to his voice.

“If he will have me?”

Emhyr blinked as Morvran took his hand, curling his fingers around it.

He couldn’t mean…

No. No of _course_ not. The name was still coming.

“Emhyr,” Morvran prodded softly. “I begin to worry that you will refuse me.”

“I am too old,” Emhyr said, latching onto the first thought that came to his mind. Uncharacteristic, but so was the feeling welling up in his chest, bright and bold and overwhelming.

“Ridiculous,” Morvran said. “Your grandfather lived to be over a hundred and fifty. You are more elf than you let on.”

Morvran was right, and it was no surprise that he had noticed how slowly Emhyr aged. His delight at first finding a few silver strands years ago had been proof enough that he paid attention.

“Emhyr, I have waited for this. I would not give you up so easily and I realise you were likely looking forward to retirement, but I think you ill-suited to anything less involved than continuing to share the burden of leadership as we have long done. Except that people will now write rude ballads about _me_ instead of you when they are unhappy.”

“Some of them were very good,” Emhyr reflected.

Morvran had a kind of collection, which Emhyr had always known was a way of taking the sting out of them. He had been shield and anchor and comforting blanket to Emhyr for so long.

The thought of being able to do the same for him outweighed any other concerns Emhyr might have had.

“Marry me,” Morvran nudged. “Your time is not yet over.”

It wasn’t, was it?

There was still so much more to do. So many things Emhyr could not have accomplished during his own reign.

But Morvran could.

And Emhyr could be the one to bring him blankets and tell him when he was being unreasonable and force him to rest rather than working himself into an early grave.

Retirement was no option at all when _usefulness_ was on the table.

“Yes,” Emhyr said, squeezing Morvran’s hand. “Yes. I think I will.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you've read this whole thing without giving up on me I just want to thank you!!! I've been so stressed and just outright unable to give anything other than Actual Work brain space and I'm so glad to be finished and I'm gonna collapse into a heap now.


End file.
